Lyrium Ghost
by Zeden
Summary: Fenris had asked her for forgiveness and she gave it. Now, they spend their days and nights making up for lost time. But in the midst of this seemingly blissful beginning, there are those who wish Marian Hawke dead. She will be forced to battle in ways that she could have never have conceived in order to save Fenris and her friends.
1. Chapter 1: My Lovely Tevinter Elf

**A great big thank you to Cloudywolf777 for the cover of the story! I have always admire this picture and it is a joy to have it on the cover.  
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**Thank you very much if you decide to read this mess of mine. The story does eventually progress from light-hearted to very meaty with a bunch of mature chapters in the beginning. I hope you enjoy! :D  
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><p><strong>Chapter 1: My Lovely Tevinter Elf<br>**

Three stacks of letters sat piled on top of a worn writing desk. Holding a position of power meant endless correspondence. The quills alone were costing Hawke a fortune. She had considered buying a few geese for feather plucking. They'd also provide the occasional meal, if her dog did not eat them first.

In the last seven years, Hawke's penmanship had surpassed her skill in magic. The ability to make pretty scribbles seemed somewhat pointless since she spent most of her time trying not to die. In the case of Kirkwall, the pen was somewhat less mighty than the sword.

Hawke pushed the letters aside. She stared at the wall like a despondent child being lectured by a teacher. The rigors of being Champion left little time for fun. She took up her quill and drew a smiley face on a piece of parchment. It did nothing to help her sour mood. That was, until, she gave it a pair of pointy-ears and changed the smile to a scowl.

_Fenris_, thought Hawke_. __I __miss __him._ She propped her head up with her hand and stared at the shadows on the wall_. __Why __did __he __agree __to __help __Donnic? __I __never__ thought __I__'__d__ have __to__ compete __with __his __best __friend__ for __attention. __Maybe __I__ should__ join __the __guard __and __become __a __traitor __so __he __can __come __hunt __me __down. __It __would __be __sexy __to __have __him__ chase __me __all__ over__ Thedas. __However,__ I__'__m __not __sure __what __he __would __do __once __he __caught __me,_ she sighed_. __At __least __I__'__d __get __to __see __him._

The eyes in a painting of one of her ancestors looked as if they were disapproving. She hated that picture. But, it became a temporary companion.

"What? You're dead. Stop staring." said Hawke. "It must be awful for you to see an apostate and an elf living in your house. I bet you're turning in your grave right now."

_This__ is __just __sad, _thought Hawke_.__ I __wonder __what __Varric__ is __doing?__ I __could __go__ down __to __the __Hanged __Man__—__no,__ that __would __look __unappreciative __and __desperate._

The "alone" time Hawke's friends had bestowed upon her to be with Fenris was starting to take its toll. Yes, she appreciated that they were being thoughtful; it was a first, but now she wanted their companionship. Bodhan and Orana were not great company. Hawke respected them and cared about their well being, but it was uncomfortable to confide in people living under the same roof. The relationship with Orana, in particular, had become strained with the increasing presence of Fenris. She was a constant reminder of a past he desperately wanted to forget. It was understandable. He had spent years reshaping his life. Hawke smiled when she thought of the progress he had made, even if the concepts of tolerance, politeness and not causing grievous bodily harm to others still occasionally eluded him.

"Well, I am certain I can find something entertaining to do without the company of one Tevinter Elf."

"Can you?" Fenris was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed. His eyes were piercing, his face pensive as he stared unmoving. Hawke stood to greet him. It was impossible for her to wipe away the delighted smile.

_I__ need __to __remain __aloof_, thought Hawke. _If __I __appear __too __eager __he__'__ll __go __gallivanting__ off__ whenever __he __feels __like __it__ without __me._

"Do you not know how to knock, Fenris?" Her voice had come across sterner than she had intended. Hawke only wanted to get the point across that she was annoyed, not angry.

Before more pleasantries could be exchanged, Fenris had moved. His lips were upon hers with ferocious precision. In a single movement, he had tipped her head back and parted her lips with his tongue. A sturdy arm whipped around her waist and closed any gap between their bodies. Long slender fingers cupped the roundness of her cheek, those that had given her pleasure in the bedroom. The feel of them alone, created heat in her body and the anticipation of a sensual night together.

Hawke melted into his arms. Fenris, who could rip a man in half, embraced her with such delicacy that it felt as if she were his most treasured item and would break with the slightest breeze. His touch made her feel precious. Even when he was rough and insistent, he still maintained restraint.

This kisses increased in fervor. For two people who had only been separated for three days, they were displaying affection that would be reserved for two people who were about to die in battle.

_Maker__'__s__ balls_, thought Hawke. _He__'__s __been __here__ for__ five __minutes __and __I__'__m__ ready __to __do__ unspeakable __things __with __him, __to __him, __under __him, __on __top __of __him._

The smell of leather and wood smoke infused the air near Hawke. These were some of the scents she often associated with Fenris. It was intoxicating to have him close once again. She had paid her dues for three years, given him every amount of patience capable to a person and then some. It was time for him to give something back.

Sweat, from a line of his perspiration dripped onto her fingers. Slight smudges of dirt marred the blush of his cheeks. He had not bothered to freshen.

_He__ could __not__ wait_, thought Hawke. _He __has __come__ straight__ from__ Donnic__'__s __company__ to__ see__ me_.

"Your smile is interfering with my tongue, Hawke," said Fenris.

Hawke laid her hands upon his chest. There was merriment in her eyes and obvious mirth in her voice. "You stink." She nuzzled near his ear. "Want a bath?"

The seduction in her voice did not go unnoticed. Fenris's voice was low and gruff when he responded. It sounded almost painful. His lips neared her ear. The warmth of his breath heated her skin.

Three days without you," Fenris paused; determination could be seen in his eyes. "And you ask if I wish to bathe this minute?"

It became an orchestrated moment.

A pair of shiny gauntlets landed with a thud near the edge of the desk. Fenris slid his muscular hands under her dress and cupped the soft flesh of her bottom. He lifted her with ease and placed her on top of the desk. Hawke tried to loosen the buckles holding his armor together, but his body never ceased to move, the elf was incensed with desire. His lips and hers rubbed relentlessly together. They were desperate to show their feelings, but it was messy and full of poor timing.

The heat from the candles caused both woman and elf to feverishly sweat. Hawke used it as an excuse to untie her finery. A pair of swollen breasts was exposed and they begged to be touched. Soft Elven lips suckled them and ripened the nipples to a peak. With his thumbs and forefingers, he gathered the erect flesh together and hardened them to the consistency of a rock. His tongue swirled around, and again, when he heard the breath catch in her throat.

He spread her legs and slid between them. Hawke could feel his erect cock against her panties, even through his leggings. Any loneliness she had suffered during his time away was forgotten in the moment. Fenris titled her head backwards and slowly brushed his lips along the outline of her jaw. The pale skin felt like silk.

The caressing stopped. Hawke's hands dropped from his ass with extreme disappointment.

Fenris leaned over her shoulder and retrieved a paper from the desk.

"Hawke, why have you drawn a childish representation of me?"

"Fenris, please tell me you did not stop to look at a doodle."

"Curiosity overcame me," said Fenris. "I have to wonder what possessed you to do such a thing. I thought the Champion of Kirkwall far too busy to squander her time drawing," he paused and finished with a droll look, "stick figures."

"I think I captured the scowl."

He smirked at her, his lips drawn in a thin line. "I should take my leave since my stench offends you so."

"Don't you mean you will try to stink with less offense?"

Fenris walked towards the door. "I am ignoring you now."

"Only for now, I hope?" said Hawke.

"We will see," said Fenris.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Scrolls and unfinished correspondence littered the study floor. Some of the papers were wrinkled, others torn. Hawke wanted to throw them all into the fire.

_Fenris has little consideration for stationery_, thought Hawke. _Actually, I enjoy that he prefers to make use of the desk in more flamboyant ways. It's far more entertaining than an invitation to..._ Hawke squinted at a piece of parchment she had retrieved. It was an invitation addressed to her mother from Seneschal Bran.

_How old is this?_ _I can hardly read it. The Seneschal's nib definitely needed to be sharpened. How should I feel about an invitation written with an inferior nib? Mother was obviously going to attend this party. She would have tried, or possibly begged, the Seneschal's son to court me. I wonder if mother would have been so inclined if she had known that the Seneschal maintained a "friendship" with Serendipity, the transgender prostitute elf with a female body. That's probably not an odd occurrence in Orlais, but it makes heads turn in Kirkwall." _

Hawke stared at the parchment with an expression reserved for sucking a lemon. _What is wrong with me? Am I really becoming this much of a bore? Since when does anyone care about the plight of a nib? There may be concerns about where some people dip their nibs, but I'm certain they are not having a discussion in their heads about transgender elves and their so-called nibs! _

A wadded up ball of parchment landed squarely in the fireplace. The sudden flame amused Hawke. She missed playing pyromancer. The rest of the letters would remain on the floor. It was simply too much of a temptation to watch them burn.

Hawke grabbed the decanter from the side table. The wineglass filled with a potent ruby liquid. "I dub thee, Ser Elixir of Good Times." The "elixir" made her think about what was waiting upstairs; a very lanky, broody elf, in a tub of warm water.

_I bet he isn't thinking of nibs_, thought Hawke. _Possibly his own_. She grabbed another wineglass and filled it without delay. _This could be a first-rate night if Fenris cooperates._

Bodhan and Sandal smiled when Hawke entered the room.

"Mistress may I just say...," said Bodhan.

_He's going to tell me it is an honor to serve the Champion of Kirkwall or thank me for letting Sandal remain_, thought Hawke.

The dwarf's words continued to spill forth. "That it might be an idea to have 'the friend of the Champion' shut the study door next time, if you don't mind? It is your home of course, but I suspect we wouldn't want the Champion of Kirkwall to be caught in a compromising position."

Hawke laughed. A few drops of wine leapt out of her glass. "You mean, with my trousers down or my skirt up?"

"Enchantment," said Sandal.

"Not now, my boy," said Bodhan.

"The _friend _of the Champion_?_ I didn't know Kirkwall had given Fenris an official title, or is this the insane workings of a nosey dwarf with a penchant for storytelling?"

"I'm certain I wouldn't know, my lady," said Bodhan.

"Of course not," said Hawke. "The idea of a gossiping dwarf is absolutely preposterous." Hawke tipped her head back and giggled. "Fenris will be delighted. Actually, I can't wait to see his face when I tell him. Did we order that Arcanum Dictionary of Profanity yet? I do get tired of not knowing what he is saying most of the time."

"My lady, I am only looking out for your best interest," said Bodhan.

"And I thank you. I am glad it is you and not mother," Hawke reminisced. "She would have been horrified by such a thing. Of course, she would never have mentioned it. The first rule of nobility is to admit nothing. That would have been improper. She would have marked it down to the wind or a passerby gasping for air."

Bodhan shifted from side to side. He was standing in his usual spot near the entrance of the house. His hands were clasped behind his back and his chest was bowed. He was not intimidating, just a short dwarf with impeccable beard braids.

"I guess we will leave it at that then, mistress," said Bodhan. He was disappointed and sounded like a father scolding a daughter. Hawke respected him, but she would not be made to feel guilty. That was Fenris's job.

"Good evening, Bodhan and Sandal. Please, help yourself to the wine or ale or whatever takes your fancy. It is a good night for it."

Bodhan bowed his head. "Thank you, mistress. I think we will retire for the evening."

Hawke went in search of her maid, Orana. She found her at the top of the stairs standing beside the bedroom door. The sight of Hawke made her fingers intertwine. She met the lady's eyes for only a fleeting moment.

"Master Fenris is bathing," said Orana. "I have seen to his needs. If you wish mistress, I can bathe you after he has finished."

Hawke raised a quizzical brow. "Thank you, but _no_." Orana's cheeks flushed a dainty pink. "Was this a service you performed for the magister?"

"Mother did," said Orana. "I am sorry if I have offended you, mistress."

Lady Hawke smiled with the type of reassurance reserved for a young child. The relationship between Hadriana and Orana's family was disturbing. It wasn't a revelation, Fenris had often confided in Hawke concerning "Danarius's prized pupil." She had been a power whore.

"Orana, I am not angry. You are kind and thoughtful. Trust me when I say those are rare qualities in Kirkwall."

"Yes, of course mistress."

"I have only one request this evening, then please do as you wish."

Orana was not accustomed to leisure. Freedom was still a foreign concept to the former slave girl. In the last month there had been inklings of budding enjoyment on her part, but, she was still incapable of independent thought. Playing the lute and speaking with Merril were the only common occurrences that suggested her life was beginning to be lived.

"What is it that you would have me do, mistress?"

"Would you please fetch a bowl of fruit? Just leave it outside the door. We wouldn't want Fenris to catch cold."

"I heard that!"

"Oh, is that what those big pointy ears are for?"

"Hawke," whined Fenris. "Would you please refrain from discussing my body parts with your maid?"

Orana bowed her head, "As you wish."

Hawke opened her bedroom door. The anticipation was reminiscent of a giddy child who was about to receive a present. Fenris was staring, a tinge of horror written on his face. He was relieved to see it wasn't the maid servant. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed.

"You looked frightened," said Hawke with a grin. "Were you expecting someone else?"

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Your maid servant offered to wash me. She chose my clothing and brought my linens."

"How awful," said Hawke. "That is her job Fenris, though I will have to speak to her about the emphatic offer to bathe others. I hate to think what would happen if Isabela learned about Orana's obsession with body washing."

"Please do," said Fenris.

"You still don't like her?"

"No."

Hawke turned her attention to the elf and his body. It was golden and strong in the light of the fire. Every muscular curve and bulge was softened by shadow. The sight of his naked wet flesh aroused Hawke. There were droplets of water on his chest that begged to be licked, supple nipples that needed to be sucked and a body that deserved to be explored. This was Fenris and more.

The heat from the bath had tinged his legs and face. He was cocooned by a bellow of steam thick enough to create a shroud above the water, one that hid the private regions. Hawke didn't mind. Of all the Elven topography, the sight she loved most was the two delicate feet that hung loosely over the edge of the tub. It afforded her the chance to study his small toes. She adored the lyrium dots on his feet.

Hawke handed Fenris a glass of wine. "Claret, your favorite." He had been eyeing it since she entered the room. "This is premium oak-aged, and I'm sharing, so feel spoiled."

"Benefaris," said Fenris.

Hawke dipped a finger in the tub. "May I wash you?

"Tell me," said Fenris. "What need is there for Orana if you fulfill her role?"

Hawke bent over and nudged his ear with her lips. "Do you think I do this for everyone?"

He made a small pleasurable humming sound. It was his noncommittal vocal way of saying he was turned on. During their flirting, Fenris had been rubbing his chest with a clean dried sea-sponge. He stopped and handed it to Hawke. There was no hesitation.

"You do not mind getting wet?" said Fenris.

"I love to get wet."

He gifted her with a snippet of laughter. It was filled with familiarity and warmth. For Hawke, it invoked a deep fondness. She was one of the few people who could make him laugh, and the only woman allowed to see him naked.

Their relationship had changed over the years. Since, Hawke had made her fortune and fame, many men had declared their undying love, sent her extravagant gifts and flattered her whenever possible, but Fenris gave nothing unless it was deserved. It was not about status or money. He liked a person or he did not. Sometimes it was too black and white. Hawke was certain Fenris would have found a companion long ago if it were not for his life in servitude. She was thankful, in some morbid fashion, that she was the first person he had trusted after three years on the run. It did not make her proud to admit that fate had given her fortune.

She knelt by the tub, determined to give him a thorough perusal. "Lay back, Fenris." He took a sip of wine and rolled his neck in a half circle.

The smell of aromatic sandalwood filled the room. It was his preference. Hawke rubbed the oil between her hands to heat it before applying it to his neck. She kneaded his shoulders with round methodical movements. The muscles relaxed under her touch.

"Did Donnic and you save the day?" said Hawke.

The trek with Donnic had been tiresome. Fenris only agreed to abandon his time with Hawke because his best friend had asked for a favor. The guardsman was trying to prove to his wife that he was competent enough to receive a promotion. Fenris had never said, but if Aveline were his wife and superior, he would feign insanity and find another occupation. Donnic was indeed a brave man.

"Yes, we apprehended the traitors," said Fenris. "Lower."

Hawke obliged. The palms of her hands glided down his neck to the small of his back and up again. He reveled in the sensation. Fenris had known few physical pleasures in his life, until Hawke had taught him the touch of lovers. He could not fathom how he had lived without a woman, though, once a month he wished he could be alone, if only for a week. Fenris finally understood how the Hanged Man remained in business.

The elf bowed his head and closed his eyes. Her hands squeezed and unfastened the knots of tension in every muscle, even those that had not been massaged. The fingertips caressed and rubbed, and the warmth created from the friction permeated throughout. He let his thoughts drift to less than noble places.

"You take only seconds to draw me in," said Fenris. His voice darkened. "Yet, your touch has been subtle."

"Because it sparks your imagination," said Hawke. "It would become boring and dull if I was to simply grab your cock every time I wanted you."

"Please feel free to try," said Fenris. "I will let you know if I tire of it."

A shower of kisses fell on his neck and ascended to the tip of his ear. The ears were an Elven erogenous zone. Fenris's eyes closed from pleasurable exasperation. He sunk deeper into the water and began to stroke the end of his cock. The tip of Hawke's tongue outlined the full length of his ear, and then descended to find his earlobe, where she licked and nibbled.

"Do not cum yet," said Hawke. "I know you're frustrated but I have more planned.

Fenris released his cock. He was losing control. "Tell me it involves my other ear."

Hawke laughed. "That could be construed so many ways."

An insistent hand pulled her towards a pair of waiting lips. They managed a few delicate kisses before it became uncomfortable. She stood and walked to the end of the tub.

"You are obsessed," said Fenris. "I won't deny you your strange pleasure."

"I suspect you enjoy it, Fenris."

"It is odd, Marian."

She took one of his elfin feet into her hand and massaged until it was no longer ticklish from the touch. Fenris awaited the inevitable. His big toe was being sucked and licked by the woman he loved at a disturbing rate. It had become a frequent happening. First, his toes would be violated and then the dots on his feet. He drank his wine faster while she indulged in her strange fetish.

"Have you been taking lessons from your Mabari? He enjoys licking my toes too."

"Shush," said Hawke. "They are irresistible."

"Maybe it is a Ferelden thing," said Fenris. He laughed at his own comment and then finished off his wine in one gulp.

After her foray, Hawke offered Fenris her hand. He refused with a smile. The elf emerged from the tub without aid.

"I appreciate the thought, Marian, but I also value my masculinity."

Hawke grabbed a towel and threw it at him. It hit Fenris in the face. He wrapped it around his waist for dignity's sake.

"Fuck, the towel." She wrenched it from his waist and threw it across the room. "Did I just insult your masculinity?"

"Not yet," said Fenris.

The entirety of his body stood before Hawke. The muscles in her groin tightened and tingled. She was aroused by the sight of him.

Fenris stared at the puddle beneath his feet. "It would appear that I am wet and naked."

"I always find that a good start to the night."

Fenris brought their bodies together. Only a thin veil of finery separated them. A trail of water meandered down his exposed chest to his belly button, where it disappeared. Hawke lazily traced the path it had taken with her finger. His nipples hardened when her knuckles brushed over them. He was waiting for her hands to go lower.

Fenris seized the rounded flesh of her ass and dug his nails in. It had left an impression. He guided Hawke's hips forward until her mound collided with his cock. As they kissed, the wetness from his body was absorbed by her clothing. The material stuck to her breasts and the outline of her darkened circles became visible. His eyes fixated on her stiff nipples. He bridged the chasm between her tits with his hands and brought both nipples close together. He licked and teased each through the sodden material. Hawke pushed her tits forward, frustrated by the barrier that withheld the touch of his tongue. She tried to expose her body but he would not allow it. To watch her writhe and feel her push against his dick made him fume with crazed need. The first moisture of his cum was beginning to pool at the top of his cock. There was an inferno building between them.

The torture pushed Hawke to the edge. If he would not relent then she would make him release. She knelt before him, a submissive gesture, and brought her mouth level with his cock. Fenris did not wait. He pushed it to her lips. The tip of her tongue spiraled around the length of him, stopping only when she had reached his balls. She nuzzled them with her nose and feathered them with light kisses. Fenris began to masturbate. Hawke grabbed his hand and swept it away. His eyes burned bright with fury.

"How long will you torture me temptress?" said Fenris. "Already, I am near the end."

Hawke took him in hand. "Come here, my love." She placed his cock in her mouth and suckled. Fenris seethed with the need to find his release. He pushed his dick against the movement of her tongue. When she slowed the pace, he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled, but she would not relent. Hawke tried to keep him from losing himself to his desire. She wanted Fenris to reach the pinnacle of elation before finally releasing.

She removed his cock and brushed the tip against her lips. When he tried to thrust, she permitted only a small portion of his length to enter her mouth. Fenris's muscles began to spasm in a fit of pure ecstasy. He did not hold back, and soon, Hawke's lips were moistened with his warm cum. When his body had calmed, he looked down at his lover. She swallowed without hesitation.

"You will be the death of me," whispered Fenris.

"You could have said that in Arcanum." She stood to be near him. "That is one phrase I know and hear often."

"And what of you, Marian?" said Fenris. "I believe it is my turn to pleasure you."

"Then come hither."


	3. Chapter 3

**The Shadows Have Not Won**

_To be alone with your thoughts is to truly be alone. My father would utter those words often concerning his time in the gallows. It reminds me that my thoughts have been serious of late. I fear I have completely fallen in love... again._

_Shit._

_Of course, if I am honest, I have been in love for years. I crave nothing more than Fenris's attention and adoration. _

_My body is worthy of his pain. I am permitted to see inside a window to his anguish, a barred window that gives a slim glimpse of his vulnerabilities. My sexuality has helped heal his spiritual wounds and mend the scars of gray memories. Being with him is something no one can possess. It has no boundaries nor can it be chained or beaten or taken from him._

_Every morning, I look into the depths of his eyes and see that he does not fully accede to trust me. A smile masked by love disavows that something is wrong. What will it take? The days shared between us have decayed into years. Will he ever achieve what he has worked for in time or will it be squandered?_

_The night before, he laid me upon the bed and spread me. I remember his hair falling through my fingers while his head rested between my thighs. The stroke of his tongue on my bud opened my legs to their fullest. His tongue dipped into me like a butterfly sipping sweet nectar. The push of his long elegant fingers within reminded me of what had been forbidden for three years. I had watched him, those many years, and had admired him from afar. I wanted nothing more than to touch where he would allow. But, in truth, if he had wanted me I would have refused. He was still bound, though there were no chains. I wanted him to come to me as a free man._

_Now, Marian, the whole of me, seeks to unbind what shackles remain. Fenris accepts with love and our bodies together have given us pure freedom. I only hope it will last._

"Marian?" said a gruff morning voice. "What is wrong?"

"I was thinking of you." A warm smile and a caress brightened his face. "Do you know that the first thing I do every morning is turn to make certain you are lying beside me?"

Fenris was taken aback by the comment. His eyes narrowed into thin slits. "Why do you try and anger me this early? We have yet to have breakfast."

She continued to stroke his cheek. Fenris grabbed her hand and kissed it. "You misunderstand. If you were not beside me I would appreciate that you needed your space. It is simply that you are here, Fenris, if that makes any sense."

"No," said Fenris. He brushed her hand across his lips. "But I welcome the sentiment."

There was a timid rap on the bedroom door. "That would be our breakfast," said Hawke. "I will retrieve it. Orana would faint if she saw your bare chest."

A quaint kiss lingered between them. "And now your maid servant feeds me and fetches my clothing. I am uncertain if I am courting her or you and I demand that she stop searching through my things."

Hawke loved to torment Fenris. It was one of her passions in life. "Did you know that Orana fancies you?"

Fenris stopped. His lip curled. "I can not imagine Orana confiding such desires to you. You see things where they are not to be found."

"Orana blushes when I receive jewelry and flowers from you." Fenris rolled his eyes. "When you speak, her eyes dart to the ground but a hidden smile remains. She brightens at the sight of you even when you look as if you are about to rip her heart out."

"And you tolerate her blatant infatuation?"

"Personally, I can't understand Orana's infatuation with my Lord Broodyship, but what is wrong with having two besotted women in your life? Any other man would be thrilled." Hawke threw a pillow at Fenris "She is young and has no experience with men. It probably does not help that you are an Elven man and a handsome one at that."

"True," said Fenris. "I can see how it might be difficult for a woman to resist my many charms."

"Can you?" said Hawke.

Fenris quickly answered. He was swimming in dangerous waters. "Not that I have noticed any women infatuated by me of late."

A noncommittal smirk materialized on Hawke's lips. The source was either from jealousy or amusement. Fenris was worried (and quite rightly so).

"Shall I try and guess the color of your underclothes then? Or better yet, you could become a raider on my ship. I always wanted to know exactly what Isabela was going to raid."

"Women are terrifying," said Fenris. "A man who says otherwise is lying."

"You are terrified of little ole' me, Fenris?"

He shook his head at the impossibility of understanding the female gender any time soon.

"You do not have to endure your wrath. It is worse than facing a high dragon in single combat."

"No, but I have to endure your whining every day, Fenris."

Fenris folded his arms to signal the end of their playful debate. "Enough, I am hungry, woman."

He threw a pillow back at Hawke. She puffed it up and placed it near the headboard. Some, would mistake her actions as a statement of tidiness. But, Fenris recognized the pride in her movements. Every item in her house, whether cheap or pricey had been hard-earned and he had helped. Hawke would never forget the history of her peasantry life. If a man were to love a woman for a simple act this would be it for Fenris. His partner did not harbor haughty airs.

Hawke grabbed her robe. Fenris was becoming playfully bold in his chauvinistic statements. It was a treat to endure his teasing.

_It's better than his brooding_, thought Hawke.

Outside sat a small cart crowned with two breakfast trays. They were laden with bread, cheese, honey, fruit and mead. Hawke rolled it into the room.

"Mother would not have approved of this," said Hawke. Fenris had heard this statement every morning for three days. "What is the point in the table?"

"Do you wish to sit at the table and eat, Marian?"

Hawke eyed the comfortable cushions on the bed and declined. "Mother could be stuffy at times. There are apples, Fenris." She threw one across the room. "Catch."

The apple landed straight in his hand. His teeth sank into the ripe crisp flesh of the fruit. Hawke watched with satisfaction as he devoured it. During his life as a slave, Fenris had been denied meals. Hadriana would place a plate of food on a table and force him to sit and look at it for a day. She would command him to beg first and then thank her later for the slim morsels provided. It was distressing to think of Fenris starving while he was made to watch others eat. There were times when Hawke wished it had been her hand that squashed Hadriana's heart. Her death was just.

"Let's see," Hawke prepared Fenris's food, "Honey, apples, grapes, strawberries, and any damned thing that is sweet." She piled it onto the plate. "Here," she handed it to Fenris, "It is a wonder that you do not cast out fruit pies when the mood takes you."

"The honey is insufficient," said Fenris. He handed the plate back to Hawke and continued to eat his apple. "I require three spoonfuls not one."

"You could get off your lazy Elven ass and get it yourself," said Hawke. "When did I become your maid servant?"

"The moment you kissed me," said Fenris. A slender grin answered her annoyed expression. "You should know your place."

_He is so cocky this morning_, thought Hawke. _The definition of a man:_ _stomach, sex and sleep. The pointy ears were a ruse. Those big eyes may look innocent, but Elven men are worse than any human male I have known. Maybe I have not known enough. How did I end up with a high maintenance elf?_

The couple ate their breakfast in the confines of feathered comfort. They talked of their aspirations and planned what they would in the days to come. Humorous stories and flirtatious remarks were exchanged without hesitation. They were two vibrant people sharing their blissful company.

"Tonight is the dinner party," said Hawke. "I have to admit I am dreading the inevitable remarks."

"You are dreading Varric? Yes, so am I," said Fenris. "He will be full of himself tonight, Marian. Make no mistake of it."

"Who invited him?"

"You did."

"Andraste's blazing ass hit by my fireballs," said Hawke. What as I thinking?"

Fenris bit back a smirk. "Exactly." He licked a drop of honey from his index finger. "And now you have inflicted this unwanted company upon me."

"Oh, shut up you damned elf and eat."

It would be the first time Fenris and Hawke would face their friends as a mended couple. Years before, the remarks concerning their brief relationship were full of outright innuendo, teasing, and questions that surpassed the nosiness of any old maid. The dinner party would be a painful event.

"Did you invite Anders and Merril?" said Fenris. He did not try to hide his disgust. "I would like to be able to eat my evening meal."

"And why would their attendance keep you from eating?" Hawke drummed her forefinger on her lips as if the question required contemplation. "Oh, wait, because you will be too busy scowling to chew?"

"It is no secret that I despise them," said Fenris. "Merrill I will tolerate, but Anders is using you like a nursemaid. Does he truly believe that you will coddle and protect him forever?"

"I understand Fenris," said Hawke. "My friendship with Anders is complicated."

_There is a part of me that wants to disagree with him_, thought Hawke. _But the truth is, I have been questioning the nature of my relationship with Anders for some time. I know I remain friends with him out of a mixture of pity and fondness. I sympathize with his plight. This is one subject Fenris will never understand. I could have been like Anders if my life had been different. I have not been in the Circle or subject to the Templars. Over the years, I have watched Anders degrade into a vengeful paranoid wreck. He has made me feel like the only constant in his life. Whatever the reason, I do feel responsible like a parent would a child. It has to end or it will only bring more grief to my ears. Fenris will never shut up about it._

Fenris leaned forward and locked eyes with Hawke. "Tell me, because I have always wondered Marian, did you have feelings for Anders years ago? He is in love with you and has made no secret of it. It makes my stomach turn."

_Here we go again, _thought Hawke_. I hate dinner parties._

"I have never thought of him in that fashion, Fenris. It wasn't the neediness that put me off, but the hint of something lurking just below the surface. He has been warped by his merger with Justice. Father was rather emphatic about building high defenses around unknown mages. I have always heeded that advice."

The mention of Hawke's father changed the mood of the conversation. Fenris considered any mention of her family a fragile subject. It would be low, in his mind, to cheapen their memories with a petty argument.

"Your father was a wise man," said Fenris. "I wish I had been given the chance to converse with him."

"That seems unlike you, Fenris. Why?"

"I would have confessed my feelings for you."

The eyes of his lover welled. "I believe father would have liked you, though, three years ago after you left, he would have seared your pointy ears with a fireball. Mother approved, but it came with mixed feelings. She was not accustomed to elves as friends and definitely had never contemplated one as a lover. The questions she asked, it still makes me blush."

"You talked of our coupling with your mother?" Fenris looked mortified. This was a woman he had seen for years. "I would ask what was said, but I do not think I wish to hear the answer."

"We did not share a detailed account, if that what you are suggesting, Fenris. It was just some odd curiosities on her part because of your physical differences to most elves."

"Let us leave it at that," said Fenris. He was somewhat relieved that the conversation had been kept vague.

"I fancy a walk to the Viscount's garden. Will you join me, Fenris?"

The afternoon constitutional through Hightown was becoming a routine for the couple. It stirred the attention of every noble and official.

"You do know that Aveline hates it when you go into the garden. It is still considered private," said Fenris.

"I'm the Champion of Kirkwall. Who would deny me?"

"Excellent point."

6


	4. Chapter 4

"You taste like honey," murmured Hawke. The elf's lips glistened with the sheen of refined nectar. Another velvety kiss drew near, but Fenris pulled back and denied her the touch. Their lips remained frozen, close, but not touching. They shared the heat of their breath. Anticipation built and they waited in agony to savor imminent contact.

Now they were ready.

A single delicate touch mounted their frustration, their tongues entwined. Hawke followed his lead.

"Marian is that honey I taste on your lips?"

"Only because you smeared it across my mouth," said Hawke.

Fenris traced the contour of her bottom lip with his thumb. He licked the combined sweetness of their kiss. "I like to share."

He lay without a tunic to cover his chest, his lithe body stretched upon the bed. It reminded Hawke of a cat soaking up the morning sun, except with more muscles and fewer claws. A line of lyrium ran like white ribbons over his muscular stomach. The view ended at the waistband of his leggings.

_That's a shame_, thought Hawke. _It would not require much persuasion to remove them._

A blissful kiss and then another graced the silken skin behind his ear. The tip of her tongue traced a lightening vein of lyrium down to his chest, where it gradually softened into the shape of a curled vine.

"Why are you tracing my markings with your tongue?" He had asked with rasping urgency.

She stopped. "I'm sorry, Fenris, I did not mean to hurt you."

"You did not inflict pain," said Fenris. He scowled with a perceptible amount of disgust. "Do you not detest them as I do?"

"I detest how they were created and why," she delivered in a soft voice. "But they are a part of you that I cannot separate from the whole."

"They are unworthy of your attention, Marian."

The conversation was leading to an argument. Fenris wanted to be touched, but his markings had never been the subject of affection. A week together had not attuned them to the bodily needs and comforts of the other.

Hawke reached for Fenris's jar of honey. He craved it more than Templars did lyrium. She spooned a large glob and poured it onto to her stomach.

"Maybe we should give our scars better memories, something that _will_ make them worthwhile." Fenris recognized the scar where the honey had pooled. It was received during the fight with the Ogre after the death of Bethany. "I do not have lines of scars running the length of my body, Fenris, but if you were to put them together, I think I have enough to compete."

Fenris gifted Hawke with a full smile. It was reserved for moments of endearment. "I am uncertain if we have enough honey," said Fenris. "Maybe we should spread it thin."

He dipped his finger into the jar and drew a line on the inside of Hawke's arm. The spoon from her hand dropped. The finger was better. After two unhurried kisses, he untied the finery and exposed her neck and breasts.

"You are insatiable." Hawke managed a whisper. "Do what you will with me."

Fenris cocked an eyebrow. "Who is insatiable?"

"Shush and touch me, lick me, tease me, just do something."

He swept her hair away so that her neck was bare. His teeth bit and nibbled and left visible marks between her shoulder and chin. Enthused, and tormented by his gritty touch, Hawke began to masturbate. Fenris stopped and spread her legs wider. The pleasurable sight hardened his cock. He undressed and threw his clothing aside.

With no warning the elf rolled between her legs and bound her hands to the bed with his own.

"You are mine." The growl in his voice was thrilling and somewhat intimidating, but it was fresh, and Hawke loved it.

The honey lubricated the length of their bodies. It smeared when skin caressed skin and stuck in tethered strands as they parted.

The elf's eyes roamed the span of her body. A honeyed nipple found the movements of his clever tongue exciting and hardened under the touch. The other was pink and tight and waiting for him. Hawke's back arced. She rubbed her mound against his cock. It was in an effort to tease him into entering, but he withheld the pleasure.

"Take me Fenris." Her eyes pleaded and begged. They had mended their relationship, but Fenris had dared only to entertain her ass with his cock. He had yet to mount her front and thrust inside. Hawke did not want to pressure her lover into a selfish act on her part. She could and would be content with what they had if it was all he could give.

He dipped his fingers in the honey pot and smeared the liquid over Hawke's mouth and chin. His bottom lip lapped it up in long agonizing strokes. Large amounts of honey swathed her body. It led a trail to her wet center. There, he paused and looked upon his lover.

"It is fine, Fenris if this too..."

Fenris laid a finger on her lips. "Say nothing."

He opened her legs wide to see the many pink folds layered like the petals of a flower. "You are beautiful, Marian." He had always considered women so. Two fingers entered inside. It had been an unnecessary act since it was obvious she was wet. Her female lips glistened in the candlelight.

He brushed his hand through the hairs on her mound and allowed only his fingertips to feel the slightest touch of the covered skin. His thumb toyed with the bud at the center, the one that brought her so much pleasure. It was a joy to know that his touch could command overwhelming need in her body and that she wanted only him to bring the relief.

He removed his fingers and tasted them. The scent of his lover and her tang remained upon his lips. She studied Fenris as he delighted in her body. It was one of the few pleasures she could offer a man whose life was tainted by unbelievable hardship.

Three years had passed since they had joined bodies. The memories of that moment were still fresh in his mind. He wanted his lover, though it may bring emotional pain. The heat, the breath, the taste and smell of her body made him long for that moment. He refused to allow fear to cage his desire again.

Fenris entered. It was as he had remembered: pure ecstasy. A noblewoman laid beneath him covered in honey. This was not a place he ever thought to find himself during his life as a slave. It made him smirk. He paid close attention to the rhythm of their bodies. Hawke's eyes were closed; her arms were above pushing against the headboard, trying desperately to deepen the penetration. Her ample tits rocked with each thrust, a motion that filled Fenris with irritated frustration. She began to masturbate under him. Every move of his body brought them closer to elation. It was a power that he had only experienced during sex with Hawke. It was not born out of control but weighty emotion.

Her body lifted and arced towards his pelvis. She wanted him, all of him and she would not be denied. She placed a foot on each of his shoulders. The tilt of her hips and the depth made her shudder. She released and he followed in her wake. The noise filled the room.

In the moment of that pure freedom, Fenris was presented with an image in his mind. He peered into a mirror, but instead of his face it reflected that of an older man, one that was familiar, yet unknown. Compassion crowned the man's face. He was dignified and confident. A band of silver and gold shined upon his brow. The light from the mirror faded and it was dark. Fenris thrust once more and took a place next to Hawke. He wrapped his arm around her waist without thought. The memory was gone but not completely forgotten.

Hawke stared at him.

_Has she guessed?_ thought Fenris. _If she knows I have experienced a memory it will only lead to grief._

"Are you alright, Fenris?"

"I feel as if this honey is etched into my skin. What have you done to me, Marian? I will have to resist the urge to lick my own body."

"So, it is better than a pair of lyrium breasts?"

"Much."


	5. Chapter 5: You May Call Me Fenris

Many thanks to everyone who has added me to their alerts, favorites and especially the reviews. It means so much to a new person.

Chapter 5: You May Call Me Fenris

Fenris emerged from the bedchamber bathed and dressed. The faint aroma of honey lingered in his hair. It was a smell he would forever associate with Hawke after their recent bodily adventure.

There was to be a dinner party—Hawke's idea —with close friends. It was to be their first social act as a couple in three years.

_Varric's sharp scrutiny and Isabela's embarrassing remarks will be brutal, and no less awkward than waking up in the Hanged Man next to Serendipity_, thought Fenris. _Why must Marian insist upon this?_

For the last several days the rampant sex had waylaid his fears. But unless Hawke was willing to forego the party for more of his body, he would have to find the nerve to deal with his friends.

_Was the sex simply a ploy so that I would not question her motives for this gathering? _thought Fenris_. Is she capable of such manipulation? Why do I even ask that question?_

Orana greeted Fenris at the top of the stairs. The meeting was awkward, though a word had yet to be spoken. He suddenly envied the power of a mage to disappear and reappear elsewhere.

_That is disturbing_, thought Fenris.

She noticed the scowl. The maid's head bowed in a hurried motion. It was a reaction typical of a slave. "Did I do something wrong master? If so, please forgive me."

A memory of servitude haunted his thoughts; the days spent looking at the floor. Every tile in Danarius's mansion he knew by heart. Fifty-six were discolored from the ash of the fireplaces, thirty-four were cracked in the main hall, fifteen in the bedroom, twenty-three in the bath, and at least, one thousand six-hundred and ninety-eight had paled in color from the light of the sun—only the closets held tiles of pristine color and shape. This he knew, because every magister had expected a head bowed when they passed. They had expected absolute obedience. They had expected total erasure of being. They expected him to be...nothing.

"Do not call me master," spat Fenris. "Do I look like a magister to you?" He gestured at the warm and inviting furnishings. "Is this Tevinter? You are free. Be grateful."

"I did not mean to offend." She remained focused on the ground. "How would you have me address you?

From the ruins of an enslaved family he had risen to become a respected warrior, friend and lover, maybe a husband in time. He walked in the home of his lady free to decide his own fate. It was his hope that Orana would realize her potential and be liberated from the past.

Fenris, with a gentle touch, lifted her chin so that their eyes met. "Do not bow your head unless it is deserved of the honor, Orana." Fenris mustered a slight nod. "You may call me Fenris. That is my name."

He walked from her company without awaiting a reply. If he had chanced a look, Fenris would have been proud of the small, but confident smile on the maid's face.

At the bottom of the stairs Hawke's manservant awaited.

"Good evening messere," said Bodhan.

The dwarf never failed to greet Fenris. It was odd to have servants cater to his needs and to know that they did it of their own free will. Bodhan held a fatherly concern for Hawke and it made Fenris uncomfortable. He often received the look of a disapproving parent from the dwarf. Strangely enough, the sour glances had started three years ago after the night Fenris had finished the relationship.

Fenris's respect for Bodhan and his son had grown over the years. There was a time when he believed, the dwarf gossiped to Varric about the happenings in the mansion. But, those fears were waylaid by Bodhan's continued loyalty during the harshest of times. Varric had other means.

"Good evening," said Fenris. "I seek Marian."

Bodhan's eyes narrowed. "She is in the library, messere. If you value your privacy and will be otherwise indisposed, please shut the door. The guests will be arriving soon."

Fenris cocked an eyebrow. _Surely he does not mean_... The thought was placed aside, but his cheeks blushed. "I will do as you ask if the need arises."

"Let us hope that the need does not _arise_," said Bodhan. The reply had been spoken in an unrepentant tone like a father speculating at the intentions of a suitor. Fenris scurried away. The conversation was becoming increasingly disconcerting.

The door to the library was ajar. Inside, the light was low and the room still and quiet. Fenris noticed that the fire had diminished into glowing embers.

_It is unlike Marian to allow the fire to die_, thought Fenris

A flash of light blinded him as he entered. Hawke hated shameful flames.

"Why must you produce such dramatic fire? I think you singed my ear," said Fenris. "Casting from that distance is unsafe, Marian."

Hawke, with courtesy, closed her book of poetry. The man that stood in her vision was dressed in his finery. A black velvet tunic, trimmed in silver braid concealed his proud chest. The under tunic was white and damascened with a silver scrolling vine. About his waist swayed a thin silver chain. A simple leather purse hung from it at his hip. Soft black leggings completed the outfit.

The presentation had attracted Hawke's attention.

"Stop staring," said Fenris.

Hawke snorted into her wine. Her pupils had dilated. "You look rather handsome. Am I not allowed to admire your many _assets_?"

Fenris crossed the room with a quick step. He leaned over her body without touching and kissed her once on the cheek. He paused to take in her form "You may."

"You are very kind, my Lord Broodyship."

A quick pair of lips brushed her sardonic comment away. They kissed briefly but abstained from more intimate contact.

"You will be difficult this evening," said Fenris. A smidgen of her hair fell through his fingers. His eyes drifted to the far wall. "I do not understand why you place so much importance on this event. Our friends are aware that we are a couple. Must we make a show of it?"

"Fenris." The voice was but a whisper of its normal strength. Hawke rose and neared. Her hands lit on his chest. "I want us to do things, as a couple, like Donnic and Aveline," she sighed, "They invite us to dinner parties, concerts, plays, and they never hesitate to show appropriate feelings for each other in public. Is it so awful to want that too?"

For a moment, he was lost for words. "I had not considered the change that I would face when I asked for your forgiveness." A smile lightened his dark features. "Let it be known that Donnic hates concerts and plays. He has spoken to me of their domestic life and it is not always pleasant."

"Really?" rang a sarcastic tone. "We may not be married, but we have argued for six years like the average couple. The only difference now will be a walk to the Hanged Man when you are pissed, instead of one to the old mansion."

He kissed her on the cheek. "True."

"Can we postpone our domestic arguments until later?" She laid her head upon his shoulder. Her voice changed to seductive. "I can think of a few things I'd like to get off my chest this evening."

Their lips met in a warm embrace. Fenris wrapped his arms gently around Hawke and pulled her to his chest. The long Elven fingers stroked the back of her head.

"I am yours, Marian," he whispered, "Give me time, that is all I ask."

A knock on the library door broke the cuddle and separated their bodies.

"Enter," said Hawke in a reluctant voice.

Bodhan walked in without delay. "My lady, some of the guests have arrived."

"Thank you, Bodhan. I shall be along shortly."

The dwarf eyed Fenris like a dog about to bite. He looked surprised, as if he expected to see him naked. "As you wish, my lady."

The dwarf scuttled away. Dwarven legs were stubby and they made Hawke think of crabs when they rushed across the floor. She had yet to admit it to a single living person.

"As I recall, the cellar runs from Hightown to Darktown."

"Leave it to you to focus on the important things," said Hawke. She took a sip of wine. "Retrieve something worthy of our guests."

A snort and a grin followed. "I do not believe we own a cask of the Hanged Man's finest."

"So, fetch something worthy of us," said Hawke.

"That I can do, but it will take time. The finest bottles are no doubt deep within the cellar."

Hawke giggled. "You cannot delay the inevitable forever, Fenris."

He stared into the flames of the fire. Hawke noticed his intense gaze and the orange glow reflecting in his eyes. "Marian," he hesitated, "I..."

"What?"

"It is nothing. I will go fetch the wine."

He kissed her on the cheek and walked away. The statement had been haunting. Hawke, though she hated to admit it, wondered if he would come back.


	6. Chapter 6: The Dinner Party

Varric and Isabela were the first of the dinner guests to saunter into the mansion. This did not surprise Hawke. Free food and drink always came before thievery.

The beardless dwarf bowed. He tumbled his hand forward and finished with an introduction: "Presenting, Lady Isabela and her pair of magnificent breasts."

Isabela strutted into the foyer. A miracle occurred: the pirate wench managed to make her breasts more pronounced. "I am so honored, Lady Hawke." She curtseyed and the behemoths bounced. They appeared to be trying to shun the confines of her restrictive top. In a way, Varric felt sorry for them. They deserved to be free.

_I don't know_, thought Varric. _If I had something the size of two dwarven children on my chest maybe I'd cover the damn things up. They just seem... unwieldy._

The sight of Isabela's breasts reminded Varric of how many words humans, specifically men, created for their favorite body parts. Elves were straight forward about sex and dwarves were frightened by their own women. It always came down to the beard. But, human men had no such reservations.

"You know, Isabela, you really do not leave much to the imagination," said Varric.

"What is the point of imagining when you can," her voice grew seductive, "touch."

Hawke rolled her eyes. A migraine was born often when in the presence of friends, relatives, viscounts, dukes, elves, dwarves and guys with big horns on their heads. She was starting to rethink the choices she had made in her life.

"I somehow feel violated," said Hawke.

"What? By the identical twins?" said Varric. "That's nothing. You should see her dressed down on a Saturday night at the Blooming Rose."

"I said I _feel_ violated. I don't actually want to be violated." She headed towards a bottle of wine. "I need another drink."

"I could do with one too."

"And me," added Isabela.

Varric used his keen sense of observation to absorb the familiar surroundings. On a normal day, the mansion smelled of soap – the servants were always battling blood stains. Today, however, it was filled with the unmistakable smell of incense and wine. The hairy dwarf suspected the incense had come from Seheron. The island was a possible link to Fenris's childhood. Among close friends it was common knowledge that Hawke indulged any whims that might conjure one of his memories. Varric had a deep respect for Hawke, but her girly need to please the pointy-eared bastard eluded him. He didn't understand women on the best of days.

Varric gave his hostess the once over. She wore a finely tailored dress. The sleeves and cuffs were adorned with silver braids, and below, a woven rope made of the same thread rested loosely on her hips. The material was too fancy for Kirkwall.

"Is that an Orlesian dress?"

"Oh, I do like it. It's nice and tight around your tits and ass," said Isabela. "Are you wearing any underwear?"

"No you may not borrow it and I would ask if you were wearing any, but I already see that you are not," said Hawke. "The dress was a gift from Aveline. She bought it years ago on her honeymoon." A slight frown marred her usual beauty. "I think she was trying to tell me something."

It had always been odd for Varric to see a hardened mage, one that killed Ogres for breakfast, dressed like a dainty flower.

"I have to admit that most days you do look like hell, Hawke," said Varric. "It's always weird seeing you like this."

"People who throw fireballs can't have well-groomed chest hair like you, Varric." Hawke paused and appeared to be rummaging through her mind for a distant memory. "I think my father used to say that."

Varric ran a few stubby fingers over his chest. "Don't remind me. I've lost count of the number of times you've singed it. I understand the jealousy, Hawke, but it's a losing battle. It just grows back thicker."

_They are like giant chest pubes_, thought Hawke. She shuddered. _Thank the Maker that_ _Fenris is not hairy. _Hawke smiled at her feet_. It's ironic, since his name means little wolf. I hate to think of the meaning of Varric's name._

The emergence of an evening gown redirected Hawke's attention. "Here, Hawke. I thought you might like this back."

"Did you even ask to borrow this dress?"

"Since when do friends need to ask to borrow their stuff?" Isabela's melodramatic plea continued. "I know it is impossible for you to say no to me."

"You don't give me the chance."

She handed it to Hawke and added: "Sorry, I couldn't get the stain out."

Hawke handed it back by the tip of her fingers. "Consider it a gift."

Varric moved side to side. His feet were still hurting from a recent trek to the Wounded Coast with Hawke. They were chasing down what they thought to be an insane mage. It turned out to be a cross dressing rogue. It was an all too familiar scenario.

"So, what's with the fancy dinner party, Hawke? I didn't even have time to polish Bianca."

"Well, we couldn't have Bianca showing me up," said Hawke.

"I hate to say it, but that might even be hard for Bianca to do tonight."

Bodhan handed Varric a pint of ale. "And how are we this evening, Varric?"

"I can't complain. Well I could, but who wants to hear that shit?" Varric adjusted his belt. "Still playing manservant?"

A slight chuckle and Bodhan answered. "I hope that isn't the next title of one of your books, Varric."

Varric stroked his bristles whilst giving the perverse matter due consideration. "It has potential. I'd have to change a few facts, spice things up a bit."

Hawke crossed her arms. "Only a few?"

"I am certain with your plethora of experiences, Varric, that you can find something better to write," said Bodhan. "I have no complaints about serving the lady. We've enjoyed being here, haven't we Sandal?"

"It's nice here." Sandal nodded. "But not the old lady. She's nasty."

"He's still going on about the nonexistent old bag?" added Varric. He leaned towards Bodhan's ear. "Any juicy gossip on Hawke? I hear the elf is more than just visiting these days."

"It kills me, Varric how you're always asking after information," said Bodhan. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Maybe Sandal is referring to Varric when he talks about the old lady."

"A champion and a comedian," he ended with a sarcastic chuckle. "It's not like I'm the only one. This whole damn town wants to know every detail of your life."

"Pish." She waved the comment away. "Maybe I should start spreading some rumors of my own."

"Sorry, Hawke," said Varric. "You're a terrible liar."

Isabela had bored of the conversation. Something was different about Hawke. It was her scent. "Did you change your soap? You reek of honey."

"No," said Hawke in a defensive manner. "Honey? Why do you think its honey?"

Fenris stepped into the room. Hawke, along with her roguish guests were surprised by his sudden entrance. Two bottles of aged wine, covered in a fine white dust, were cradled lovingly in his hands. He held them each in higher esteem than the dwarf and pirate wench.

"You told her!" said Fenris.

Hawke blushed scarlet. "I didn't tell her anything."

"You did now," said Isabela.

She was delighted with the information. Hawke noticed Varric's mental note. The once romantic memory of honey had faded into a nightmarish embarrassment.

The attention refocused on Fenris, who was cursing under his breath. His comment concerning the honey would haunt him for the rest of his life and he knew it.

Isabela gained a flirtatious smile and Varric lost the power of speech for three whole seconds.

"Elf, why are you dressed like that?" said Varric.

"I could ask you the same question," said Fenris.

"Oh, we're on form tonight." He gave Fenris and Hawke a suspicious glance. "There's something odd going on. Have you been possessed, Hawke?"

Hawke gestured with her head towards Fenris. "Well, that wouldn't explain Fenris's sudden good taste in clothing. I wonder if there is such a thing as a fashion demon."

Isabela placed her hand on her hip. She sashayed over to Fenris and sized him up. "Well look at you all dressed up. Are you trying to impress me?"

"I was under the impression that a pint of piss poor ale would do that," said Fenris.

Isabela's sense of humor and her competitive streak had been fueled by his comment. She was determined to spend the rest of the evening goading him. On occasion, Hawke grew jealous of the flirting. Trusting her thieving friend was difficult when it came to Fenris. She would rather find her clothes or money missing than her lover. Regardless of Isabela's intentions, Hawke trusted Fenris and to some degree, if she admitted it, Isabela.

"My lady," said Bodhan. "More guests have arrived."

The dwarf ushered Donnic through the door. There was a slight pause as everyone awaited Aveline, but she was not present.

Donnic was dressed in his civilian clothing; a nice tunic and leggings and a sword at the side.

_Those two love weapons_, thought Hawke. _Their house feels... sharp_. _I bet if they have children they will be wielding a sword before they can walk._

Hawke truly loved to spend time with Aveline when she was off duty. She was relaxed and intent on enjoying the company of others. Every ounce of the guardswoman changed when with Donnic. She was a friend and a wife and the pretentious nature of being a captain was left back at the office. The two became equals. Donnic could speak his mind without needing to ask permission and Aveline could kiss him without being court-martialed.

Hawke envied their relationship to some degree, the normal aspect of it. They had a daily life and routine for the most part, unless she was involved, then chaos would ensue. Hawke was aware how much her actions affected others. But for all the challenges and hardships, she would not change a thing, especially if it meant Fenris would no longer be a part of her life.

"Good evening, champion," said Donnic. "I'm afraid Aveline has been detained. She will be along shortly."

"You are off duty guardsman." Fenris announced in a droll tone. Call Marian by her name: Hawke."

Varric's eyes widened "Marian? You call Hawke by her first name? It must be love."

"You do realize that when I call you a funny little man I do not actually mean that you are humorous." Fenris folded his arms. His fingers drummed against his bicep.

A bottle of wine and flowers interrupted the playful banter between short and tall. "Thank you," Hawke pointed two fingers at the dwarf and elf." "Ignore those two."

"I think they enjoy it," said Donnic with a smile.

"And whose side are you on?" said Fenris.

Fenris and Donnic exchanged pleasantries. Donnic had been someone Fenris could confide in without fear of reprisal or embarrassment. Others had offered friendship to Fenris, but most wanted something in return. Donnic was a simple man with no hidden agenda, and a man of few words in the presence of those he did not trust. Hawke believed him to be one of the few she could count among the sane in Kirkwall.

Fenris examined Donnic's gifts. He ignored the flowers. "I see you brought wine." Donnic handed it over. "I will find some empty glasses."

"What about some more ale, elf?" Varric held out his empty mug and addressed Fenris like a serving wench. "That grape juice doesn't put hair on my chest."

"As if you need more," said Fenris.

"Varric," said Hawke in two short syllables. "Would you stop calling him _elf_? He has a name."

"Yeah, but I don't say that in public."

Fenris snorted into his drink. "Very funny, dwarf."

"Did you mean funny as in ha-ha, or as in peculiar, elf."

"Both," He was pleased with his witty retort. He looked to Hawke for the equivalent of a visual pat-on-the-head. She rolled her eyes and listened to the guardsman.

"They are always like this," said Donnic. You put an elf and a dwarf in the same room and they will do nothing but aggravate each other."

"It's the height difference," said Fenris. "Dwarves feel inferior."

A murmur of laughter filled the room. Bodhan was the only one not amused.

"Height has nothing to do with it, elf." Varric puffed out his chest. The hair wavered in the wind.

"I think the women would disagree," said Fenris.

"Did he just make a rude comment?" said Varric. "You need to take his Isabela privileges away."

Hawke placed her hands on her hips. "And just what kind of Isabela privileges are we talking about, Varric?"

"There are no Isabela privileges," said Fenris as he stepped between the dwarf and Hawke.

"And no puppy eyes," said Merril. "Oh look, dip."

The slender Elven woman crossed the foyer and made for a table filled with the odd appetizers. She appeared to be oblivious when it came to etiquette.

"Hello Merril." said Hawke.

Bodhan stepped forward. "Sorry, my lady, I was just about to announce her arrival. I didn't want to interrupt."

"Next time please do." Fenris emphasized each word. "It will spare me the trouble of listening to the dwarf."

_The elf and the dwarf_, thought Hawke. _Wonder what would happen if I made that a book suggestion? Yes, must make my own fun._

Fenris shuffled near Hawke. His eye was fixed on Merril. "I see the witch has arrived, but no abomination."

"What would a party be without a witch and an abomination?" said Hawke.

"I can hear you." Merril tucked a carrot into her cheek. "Anders isn't coming. He's reading some book."

"Then my evening is not completely ruined," muttered Fenris.

"Isn't small talk supposed to be boring and less... insulting?" said Hawke.

"Why can't we all love one another," said Isabela. "It works for me."

Varric chuckled. Each hair moved in time with the heave of his chest. He wiped the ale from his lips with the sleeve of his jacket. "At least someone has the right idea."

Orana emerged from the kitchen. Silence, for the first time, was the response. The complacent people were happy to see the young Elven woman.

"My lady, dinner is served."

"Thank the Maker," said Hawke. "I mean...wonderful. Shall we eat?"

The company was eager to be seated.

"Is there anything else you require of me?" said Orana.

"No, but feel free to join us," said Hawke.

"That is a kind offer, unfortunately, my lady, I have one more chore I must see to before the market is closed."

"Are you certain?" Fenris spoke in a gentle voice. "You are welcome to dine with us."

Orana hesitated. She was continuously wringing her hands together

"Orana," Hawke was concerned. "What is it that cannot wait? I assure you that any chore to do with this house can remain undone until tomorrow."

"It is the bed linens my lady. Mama was a much better washerwoman than me. I tried to, but I couldn't..."

Hawke held up her hand. The crimson stain on her cheeks could be seen by Merril across the room. Every word was spoken with single hesitation. "Right, please go see to that and do not worry about it."

"You are very kind, my lady," said Orana.

Fenris's jaw tightened and his cheeks reddened. He walked through to the dining room muttering obscenities in the language of Tevinter.

"Well someone has been a bit bizzzzzy," said Isabela. She laughed at her own joke. "Honey? Try chocolate next time. Sweet and salty can be quite a nice combination."

"I think I am going to be sick," said Varric. "Even this is too much information for me and that is saying something."

Merril joined Hawke's side. "I tried all of the appetizers and none of them were sweet and salty. Did I miss something?"

Isabela wrapped an arm around Merril. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, kitten."

Hawke ushered her guests into the dining room. The table welcomed them with an array of food and drink. Their hostess had catered to all their independent tastes. Fenris was seated alone at the end. He was fixated on the fire.

"Where's the food?" said Isabela. "I'm starving."

"You have the manners of a nug," said Fenris.

"And you smell like you've been bathed by bees," said Isabela.

"Do you even bathe?" His eyes narrowed.

"Of course," said Isabela. "I even wore perfume tonight. I found it at a new market stand in Lowtown."

"I did not know they had managed to bottle eau d' whore," said Fenris.

"Don't take your mood out on me," said Isabela. "So what, you and Hawke had some kinky sex and everyone knows. Big deal."

"Enough," said Hawke. "Let's just eat."

"Is it warm in here?" said Isabela. She began to rub her chest. The men stared in awe. "Oh, it's just a honey pot."

Hawke raised her hands. "Can we just eat?"

"You always spoil my fun, Hawke," said Isabela. She removed a lid and stabbed a piece of game. It landed with a flop onto her plate. That signaled the beginning of the meal. It ended with a sigh.

After dinner Hawke studied her companions. They looked bored and stiff. Most of them were used to eating on the run or running from the thing trying to eat them. Sitting at a table with more than one piece of cutlery was not their forté.

"Well this is dull," said Hawke. "I think I arrange these things more in the memory of mother than myself. We were never a very formal peasant family in Lothering." The friends smiled at their hostess. "So, anyone for a game of Wicked Grace?"

"Now you're talking, said Varric. "You up for a game elf or have your standards grown too high for us commoners?"

"If you are trying to coax a reaction out of me vertically challenged one it will not work." An eyebrow rose with satisfaction, "Beating you at a game of Wicked Grace is enough to prove my superiority."

"Damn, Hawke," said Varric. "It's all gone to his head."

"No, he exchanged the broody for a pair," said Hawke.

"A pair of what?" said Merril.

Isabela made the unmistaken sign of the male testicles.

"Oh," said Merril. "Didn't he have any before? I've never heard of that sort of magic."

Fenris shook his head and sighed. "Why must everyone have a laugh at my expense?"

"Because it's free?" said Isabela.

Varric had turned his mind to more important matters. "I'm dealing,"

"I'd rather you did not," said Fenris.

"Oh, get over it broody, no, wait, ballsy," said Varric. "Besides, I still don't trust that thing you do with your hand."

"I think I preferred broody," said Fenris.

"So," Isabela beamed a naughty smile and a raised eyebrow. "If I win I get to know the color of Fenris's underclothes. If he wins I'll take off my top."

"Isabela!" Hawke was not going to wait for the men to agree. "I am sitting right here. Besides," she aimed a self-satisfied smile directly at her flirtatious friend, "who said he is wearing any?"


	7. Chapter 7: Déjà vu

Chapter 7:

The door to the bedchamber rattled open. Inside, Hawke found a very handsome Tevinter elf lying upon her bed without a tunic.

_Thank the Maker for that sight_, thought Hawke. Their eyes met. A lopsided grin on the verge of falling over greeted her inquisitive eyebrow. _He is so drunk._

A slim, ornate wineglass rested in his hand. It was accompanied by a box of chocolates.

"Are we comfortable?" A luscious sized chocolate truffle beckoned. Hawke went for it and found her hand pushed away. Sweet things made Fenris mental. "You're not going to share, not even with me?"

Fenris remained unchanged. He popped another in his mouth.

"No."

She ignored his objection and lunged for one. He grabbed both of her hands and held them gently, but firmly.

"It would seem I have the upper hand," said Fenris.

"That was an awful pun." Hawke tried to pull away. A devilish smile gave her reason to pause. "I know how to get one of those chocolates," she added with conviction.

"Really?"

Fenris popped another chocolate into his mouth and then moved the box out of her reach. For his bad behavior, Hawke straddled his hips and settled firmly on his cock. A thoughtful 'mmmm' sound emanated from the elf.

"May I have a chocolate now?"

"No."

"You obstinate, pointy-eared nug, give me one!" She leaned over; their lips almost touched. He tried to initiate a kiss, but she pulled away. "Chocolate first."

"Fine." Fenris held the chocolate between his fingertips while she bit into it. He ate the other half. "Come...," he laid a warm hand on each of her hips, "get drunk with me, Marian."

"I hate it when you give me your come-get-drunk-with-me eyes, Fenris. It's impossible to say no." Hawke rubbed her hands along his bare chest. The lyrium began to light. "Besides, you're drunk enough for the two of us."

He handed over his wineglass. "Drink with me. It is unsatisfying when you remain sober."

Hawke obliged: one swig and the glass emptied. The couple spent the next hour drinking copious amounts of wine while they relived the events of the recent dinner party. Varric had told outlandish stories, Donnic had managed to take most of the winnings, Fenris had gained a new nickname and Isabela had removed her top for the "fun" of it. Hawke was still not amused. She was planning revenge.

Fenris swiftly changed the mood of the evening. The lovemaking began with primitive passion; a man mating with a woman. He watched her pleasure the sweet center between her legs, her face contort and redden with each bounce of her ass. Soon her muscles would tighten and he would feel indescribable pleasure, something his former life had not allowed.

"Fuck me harder, Fenris" Her breathing was hazy. "I need you."

Until she was ready, mundane thoughts were his ally.

The ascent to euphoria swiftly rose. Fenris was on the verge of losing the battle to have his lover cum first. He concentrated, counted, and even recited the lyrics to an ancient Tevinter song in his head, but it was of no avail. His body was in control. However, his mind had the advantage. The closeness to Hawke and their intimate encounter brought forth strange images. There was a vision of an Elven man pointing towards a dusty book; it was perched upon a dais in a candlelit room. Unfamiliar faces studied him like a child poking an insect with a stick. The images twisted and mixed into one congealed heap. A flash of white drove them away... but not all the memories were forgotten.

The lovemaking ended. Hawke stared down at him. The confusion in her eyes was startling.

"What is it?" said Fenris. "Why have you stopped?"

"I would continue if I could," said Hawke. "But there's a slight problem."

A part of his anatomy had failed to deliver.

"I... I am sorry," he blurted. "We can try again."

Hawke was not fooled. He was too eager to change the subject. "What did you remember?" She rolled over onto her side. "You can tell me, Fenris."

"Nothing."

"Trust me, my love." she stroked his hair, "Now, tell me what you remembered."

"You were never one for tact, Marian." He stared upwards to the canopy. The brief memories were all but gone. One remained: the elf with the familiar features.

"That's true. Usually I just kill people and worry about whether it was a tactful slaying later."

Fenris rose from the bed. He wrapped a robe around his exposed body. "I need to be alone." He closed the door gently behind as he left.

_Maker's breath_, thought Hawke. _I have blood that small, stubby men crave and a body that gives my lover past images of his tortured life. I'm such a keeper. _

Hawke heard the door to her mother's room close. It was a place she promised to Fenris, somewhere he could go when he needed to be alone. She hugged his pillow, the one with his scent, and fell asleep.

After the morning meal, and with only her thoughts for company, Hawke decided it was time to speak to a friend. The fear that Fenris would once again leave was unbearable. On her way out, she secretly instructed Bodhan to spy on him, to note his mood and whereabouts. It was a shameful act, but she was worried. The dwarf agreed to it.

The barracks had a more aromatic smell than usual. Sweat mixed with a heavy dose of fear lingered in the air. Lucifer, her pet Mabari, was helping Aveline train the recruits. Hawke had agreed to the arrangement, on the condition, that Lucifer was allowed only a small portion of fresh ass per day.

Before entering Aveline's office, Hawke knocked. The fear of catching her friend with her pants down was enough reason to be courteous. Thankfully, the captain was staring at her paperwork.

"Aveline," said Hawke. "How goes it?"

The voice startled Aveline. "Hawke, what's the occasion? I expected you to be... indisposed."

"You mean, because I should be having lots of sex with Fenris?

Aveline sighed. "Well, full credit for being blunt, Hawke." She shuffled her papers and placed them in a neat pile. "So, what can I do for you?"

Hawke scooted a book away from the edge of the desk. She plopped her bottom onto a corner of the aged wood. "I'm just here for a friendly chat with my favorite guardswoman." A stray finger ran across a deep scar.

Aveline removed her paperwork from the vicinity of Hawke's ass. "You never come this early for friendly chats, Hawke. What's wrong?"

She would not meet Aveline's eyes. "Did I say something was wrong? Why do you always think that?"

"Oh I don't know," she sighed, "Let's see... Darkspawn, blood magic, abominations, possessed mages etc..."

"Fine, alright, but you forced me. It's Fenris," she shrugged, "Things aren't exactly on the road to contentment."

Aveline smiled. "Ah, so living together hasn't met your expectations. Well, welcome to the world of domestic life."

"Wait," Hawke held up a single hand. "We aren't living together. It's... more like sharing a room because his mansion is crumbly."

"Hawke," Aveline tried to be diplomatic. "It was never _his_ to claim and you know it. I helped out of pity."

"Never say that to another living soul," a hint of anger lingered in her voice. "Never."

"I did not mean to offend. But it is the truth whether you would accept it or not," Aveline looked away. "Besides, I think Fenris is aware of that fact."

"I'm sorry," said Hawke. "I have always appreciated your concern for his well-being."

"Oh, it wasn't Fenris's well-being that made me lie," said Aveline. "I just hate the Senechal."

"And Fenris called _me_ tactless."

Aveline neared her office window. She studied the recruits practicing their swordsmanship in the yard. "So, what is it Hawke? Is it... the memories again or something else?"

"It's the memories again, though he tried to deny it." Hawke was surprisingly disappointed. "Fenris is a terrible liar."

"How can you be sure?" said Aveline. "Maybe he is telling the truth."

Hawke blushed for the first time in ten years. "No, I'm certain it is his past life come back to haunt him," she coughed, "He couldn't... finish."

"What?"

"Oh, Aveline I can't believe I have to spell this out." Hawke held up a bent finger "He couldn't finish what I started." She breathed. "There, I said it. Those words will never leave this room."

"Of course they won't," Aveline folded her arms and faced Hawke. "It happens to every man and... elf."

"No, this is a repeat of three years ago," Hawke's constant pacing made the floor creak. "I have to find a way to help him. I cannot lose him again."

"Maybe Anders can help." The guardswoman had spoken before giving her words due consideration. "Wait... that was a terrible idea."

Hawke laid her hands on her hips and stared. "Sure, I'll go discuss Fenris's "problem" with Anders, his archenemy. Maybe he can make a penile rock armor potion or better yet, why don't I ask Merril? A bit of blood magic, and poof," Hawke flailed her arms in the air. "We can make a deal with an erection demon."

"Alright, Hawke," said Aveline. "I'm sorry. It was the first thing that came to mind."

"Didn't Anders say something about your headband holding your brains in?"

"Hey, that was uncalled for," said Aveline. "I can't stand that ass some days." She shrugged. "So, what are you going to do?"

"What my father always did when he couldn't find an answer."

"And what was that?"

"Read a book."


	8. Chapter 8: Finding Answers

Chapter 8: Finding Answers

Hawke's study provided a sanctuary where her thoughts were not burdened by the oddity of her life. The golden fire warmed her chair behind the oaken desk. It was the same species of oak in her cellar used to age fine port, a favored drink of her late grandfather, so she had been told. Gamlen was not known for his memory, especially when it came to the truth.

The mage's long slender fingers massaged the troubled wrinkles on her forehead. Asking Aveline for advice concerning Fenris's "problem" had proven unproductive and embarrassing. In truth, she did not expect her friend to have answers. Maybe a helpful suggestion, but not an answer to her dilemma.

_Think Marian, _thought Hawke_. What is it that returns Fenris's memories? Is it being with me, being a mage, the intimacy, the touch of his lyrium markings, the release? What is it? Maybe I should have him sleep with Isabela to see if it's just me. _She rolled her eyes_. Now my mind feels like a desecrated burial ground. Please never let me have that thought again._

The twist of Fenris's markings often brought forth images of the lyrium veins in the Deep Roads and the occasional vine growing up the wall of the mansion. Lyrium had provided the grim power he needed to become a weapon. It gave him the strength of many men and the ability to squash a person's heart from the inside. She tried not to dwell on the latter thought.

_How many books do I own concerning lyrium?_ thought Hawke. _I can't believe I suddenly prize them higher than any gem._

The bookshelves were brimming with numerous subjects. Her eyes scanned over the varied topics. She noted verbally any that contained the word lyrium in the title.

"_The Refinement of Lyrium, The Lyrium Craftsman Catalogue, The Smiths of Amgarrak, New Trends in Lyrium Preparation and The Significance of Mineralogy in Lyrium Processing_."

_I'm so boring_, thought Hawke. _None of this is useful unless I want to make armor_.

An escaped drop of rain made the fire spit and hiss.

_I must get that chimney seen to_. She stared helplessly at the wall as if it held the answers but would not speak them. _I wish you were here, father. I have many questions and, I fear, little time._

A map of Thedas drew her attention. If her eyes could ignite objects, the map would have burned from the intensity of her stare.

"Ferelden, Denerim, Antiva, Orzammar, wait... its practically synonymous with lyrium."

_Raw lyrium is mined by the dwarves in Orzammar, they, in turn, process it. Alright, concentrate_. She rubbed her temples in circles. _Okay_, _this is simply common knowledge_. _Danarius must have used the processed liquid form, otherwise it would have killed the magister outright. Was it burned or infused into the skin? _She gave the information time to percolate_. And what was the ritual? Was it simply for show or did it actually serve a purpose? _

Out of frustration, she ripped the map from the wall and cast it into the fire. A large flame engulfed the continent of Thedas. Hawke's current mood found it fitting.

"I need answers!"

_Why had I never heard of the ritual or any of this until Fenris? Father was so knowledgeable when it came to the abuses of magic and always eager to tell us. _

Hawke reflected on the strange abilities of her lover. Years of observing his battle strategy had attuned her to the uses and capabilities of his markings. But, in all those years, they had yet to discover the secret of their creation. It filled Hawke with anger that a memento of Danarius remained; a past that interfered with Fenris's present. It was a living hell.

_He has the capability to go through solid objects like an apparition,_ thought Hawke. _It reminds me of something? Does the lyrium allow a part of him to enter the Fade?_

A timid rap on the door alarmed Hawke. Her thoughts were deep and focused on the recollections. The need to find answers was now a driving force that could not be waylaid.

"Enter." There was an edge to her voice, an irrefutable desire to be left alone.

Orana emerged. She had sensed the displeasure in her employer's voice. Her head submissively bowed out of habit. The action filled Hawke with guilt.

"I am sorry to intrude, my lady," she held out a vase containing twelve long-stemmed roses, "but I wanted to give these to you."

Hawke's delighted reaction reassured Orana. "There is a card too." She handed it over. "I offered to see to this for Bodhan."

"Thank you, Orana" Hawke opened the envelope. Her eyes scanned the message and she grinned. "It was very thoughtful of you to bring them to me."

The maid servant blushed. "Bodhan did not seem comfortable handling them, my lady. I thought it best to deliver the flowers myself." She was pleased. "They are lovely."

_I wonder if she has imagined receiving them from Fenris_, thought Hawke. _It is sweet, but Maker, she really needs to find an elf of her own_. _Maybe I should introduce her to my brother. _Hawke grunted_. No, I like her too much to do that._

"White roses are my favorite," Hawke gave the flowers the once over. They were freshly cut and ripe with a heady smell.

_I wonder if he stole them from the Viscount's garden again_. _No, that wouldn't explain the card. I think the Maker created roses for men, because they often need the perfect way to say sorry. Surely there should be chocolates?" _She smiled_. "Of course, he couldn't resist._

Hawke read the card:

_Marian, _

_Your dwarf is useless._

_I await your return,_

_Fenris._

_I see Bodhan was unable to successfully spy on him, _thought Hawke_. Poor Bodhan, I hope he hired someone to try and follow Fenris, otherwise I am going to have one very annoyed dwarf on my hands. He hates walking through Hightown._

"One moment, Orana. I have an errand for you."

Hawke dipped her nib in the open inkwell and replied:

_Fenris,_

_Do not insult my hairy little manservant._

_I am here,_

_Marian._

She placed the card in the envelope and handed it to Orana.

"Would you be so kind as to take this Fenris? I know he is waiting in the next room."

"Why yes, my lady, he is." Orana was surprised. "How did you..."

"I know Fenris."

"Then, I will take my leave."

Hawke awaited the inevitable. She heard the sound of two small Elven feet padding against the stone floor. They were headed her way. A white-haired elf appeared within a minute. He made certain the door clicked shut before engaging Hawke in conversation.

"Your dwarf tried to follow me," Fenris crossed his arms. "Why would that be, Marian?"

She shrugged. "I won't lie, I asked him to spy on you. I was worried after last night. Are you angry?"

"Did you think I would not return?"

"Wait, you didn't answer my question, Fenris."

Hawke bit her lip so she wouldn't laugh. They were being childish and too careful. The trepidation in Fenris's voice was unusual.

"Come here," Marian motioned with her hand. "I have something for you."

Fenris's brow wrinkled. If he had not known better he would have expected an ambush.

They came together and she hugged the confused elf. "I promised you space when it was needed. I do not rebuke that pledge now. But, I do wish you would not lie to me."

Fenris's eyes narrowed. "I..." He tried to argue the point, but it felt contemptible to lie again. "I am sorry. You deserve better."

"Maybe I don't," said Hawke. "I pushed the issue when you obviously were not ready to share. It's your decision to tell me what you will and I must respect that. I am sorry."

"It would appear that we are two sorrowful people," Fenris smirked. "Shall we speak of it?"

Hawke motioned to the settee. They were seated on opposite ends.

"I saw a vision of an Elven man," Fenris drummed his fingers along a cushion. "His face... it was familiar. It was as if I had always known it."

There was a moment of consideration on Hawke's part before she dared to answer. It was a delicate situation.

"You have no idea who it was, then?"

"None."

"You have never spoken of your father," said Hawke in a cautious tone. "Could it have been him?"

"Perhaps, but doubtful."

A long and frustrated sigh escaped Hawke. "Why is it doubtful, Fenris?"

He visibly squirmed. "There is something I have never told anyone about the slave trade in Tevinter." His eyes closed with visible pain. "It is common practice for the slavers to pair a couple for the purposes of conceiving children."

Hawke's eyes widened. "You mean... they do not choose to be together?"

"Correct," Fenris's eyes drifted away from Hawke. The shame was evident. "My parent has no doubt fathered children with many different women. They are chosen for their physical attributes, like an owner who provides a stud for a fee. It is..." His head bowed.

It was during these moments that Hawke wished she had given Danarius a long and painful death. Fenris was the better person for quickly ending it. To her disgust, Hawke began to wonder if Varania was a half sister. Those were thoughts better left unsaid.

"May I comfort you, Fenris?" she whispered, "I know you do not always like to be touched when speaking of these things."

There was no objection or hesitation, Fenris fell into her arms. She would hold him in silence for as long as needed. Above all else, she would not judge. And he knew it.


	9. Chapter 9: Not in Polite Society

Chapter 9: Not in Polite Society

Hawke slid her hand under the crook of Fenris's arm. He would be her escort to the Viscount's garden. After months of the same walk together they were still faced with disapproving nobles and their servants. They whispered in smooth undertones as the couple passed. Kirkwall was renowned for its gossip, especially when it came to the Champion and her "friend".

By now, Fenris and Hawke had grown accustomed to the comments._ I'm a mage, the feared and oppressed, Fenris is an elf, oppressed, but not feared, though, in this case, he should be feared. What an ironic couple we are, _thought Hawke. _I love it._

Hawke eased closer to Fenris_. If they are going to talk, I am going to give them a good reason to do so, _thought Hawke_. It is funny to think that I saved them, a mere peasant. Now I elicit such attention that stories of my adventures are spread throughout Thedas. Yet, for all that Fenris and I have accomplished, our relationship is still frowned upon. _She lifted her head higher in defiance of their unearned self righteousness. They would not win.

To her face she was known as the Champion, a heroine and worthwhile noblewoman. But the veiled whispers had not gone unheard. 'The knife-ear's whore, it takes all kinds, it's such a shame', and some of the remarks she simply refused to acknowledge. There was a select group of noblewomen who believed Fenris was her only option for marriage because she was a mage. But, in truth, it was a malicious statement borne out of jealousy and prejudice. Many noblemen had approached Hawke concerning possible courtship. She was always pleased to introduce them to her suitor. They made a swift retreat thereafter, but there was one who refused to take no for answer: Altan Doyle-Burgamond.

Altan Doyle-Burgamond was a famous spice merchant with an entire armada of ships. Hawke had attracted his attention at the Champion of Kirkwall banquet. In Altan's eyes, her beauty and notoriety made Hawke a valuable asset; a trophy to be won. For Fenris, Marian was his world.

Hawke had ignored Altan's advances to the point of burning his invitations and sending the ashes back as a token of her hatred. He sent gifts, had her followed and threatened Fenris on more than one occasion, which resulted in the untimely death of four mercenaries. Aveline was now involved. Either it would end or Hawke would end him.

Fenris opened the Viscount's garden gate for his lady. Few had ventured to enter since Dumar's death. The Elven eyes did a panoramic roam of the premises. When he was certain they were alone, he smiled without reserve. Hawke found it beautiful.

"Why are you smiling?" said Hawke.

"The roses are in bloom," said Fenris. "I...have always been fond of their shape and scent. It is nothing."

"You like this place don't you? I thought you hated dirt, Fenris?"

"It has a path. My feet do not stray from the stone."

She stared at his bare toes with longing. Fenris ignored her fetish and continued to follow the stoned trail.

Weeds had started to grow in defiance of a once well-manicured landscape. The path meandered through roses, trees and wildflowers. In the very center there stood a marble fountain in the likeness of Andraste. Fenris paused in this spot. He dipped two fingers in the water and splashed.

"It smells," said Fenris. "Why is this place unkempt? It is a pity."

"The city is in turmoil," said Hawke. "It seems a low priority without a viscount."

"But still...," said Fenris. "The people pay for public service."

A large lump of algae flew into the bushes. Hawke was cleaning. "Talk to Meredith. She is the one determined to lord over this city," she smiled, "Of course you would need to pay taxes before you could complain, Fenris."

Fenris sighed. Conversation amongst his friends and the local population was focused on the political problems of Kirkwall. There was no escaping it. The whole scenario was made more intolerable by the fact that Hawke was at the center of it all.

"How do you feel today?" There was tenderness in her voice. "I am worried about you."

Fenris began to walk. He plucked petals from the roses as he passed. "I have spent my life feeling only what I was allowed. These brief memories taunt me. They bring forth raw emotions that are painful, yet I crave them." He paused and released the petals onto the wind.

"I cannot imagine," Hawke rubbed his shoulder. "I wish...I could say something to make this better.

For a time, they continued in silence. Of late, even with the turmoil, Hawke had given thought to marriage and children. Watching Carver and Bethany grow from babies to adults had been rewarding for the eldest.

The first years in Kirkwall were about survival, seeing to her family's needs. The acquisition of the mansion and change in status gave her time to pause and consider her own needs. But after Fenris, and because he would not stay, there would be no one else for three years. She would not settle for less even though her mother was insistent she find a suitor.

It was true that she craved a certain amount of power and she had achieved a distinguished position in Kirkwall. But for all the glory and recognition it did not and could never replace a family of her own.

"Say it was possible to have your memories returned. Would you do it even if it meant pain?"

"No. I have had enough of pain." Fenris kicked a stray stone out of their way. "But I am not given the choice."

"Well, we could stop having sex for a time."

"That is not an option." He beamed a goofy grin. "I will not become a slave to my mind, Marian."

With those words, Hawke was determined to help Fenris and she would do it, if need be, at the cost of their relationship. The idea of starting a family began to slip away.

The circular path had ended. They stood staring at the rusty iron gate.

"Varric needs to speak with me," Hawke said as she picked at her hangnail. She focused on a column in the distance. To meet his eyes would mean to give away the lie. "I should see to it."

Fenris leaned over and kissed her cheek. "If you must."

"If I wait too long he will only make up a ridiculous story involving raiders and a daring escape."

Fenris loved her smile even when it was laced with false emotion. His arm wrapped around her waist and he pulled her near. She could feel the sudden erection against her stomach.

"Do not be long."

He placed his hands on her ass and thrust gently against the top of her mound.

"Bold today, aren't we?"

"I want you," said Fenris in a weighty whisper. "Varric can wait."

"Fenris," she grunted. Her neck rolled backwards and he took the opportunity to nibble the silken skin. "Please, I must see him."

He stealthily brushed his hand between her legs. A line of kisses finished at her earlobe.

"Marian, it need not take long, though I am certain I can change your mind."

It took all of her resolve to pull away. "I promised, Fenris."

His nose wrinkled. "And you cannot break your promise to be with me?" The once seductive voice was filled with frustrated anger. "Is the dwarf's need greater than mine or do you fear I will not perform to your satisfaction?"

"Why don't you just add bitch to the end of that sentence? It would complete your obligatory demand."

Fenris growled. "Fine, I will leave."

"Fenris," she called after him, but he did not turn or acknowledge her plea. She watched him fade from view. "Maker," she whispered, "what is wrong with me?"

Hawke closed the gate and made for Lowtown. On the way, she observed the everyday people of Kirkwall participating in the chores of daily life. Those that were obviously married attracted her attention. Some argued, others displayed outward affection, but the ones with children did both. They were labored with the needs of their family. Regardless, Hawke was envious of their seemingly normal lives.

But, when given thought, if she had lived a typical life in Lothering, Fenris would never have been part of it. She would have married a boy from a local family and probably remained in the same place for the entirety of her life. It seemed a tremendously boring prospect without a lyrium-imbued elf to challenge her opinions or light her fire in the bedroom. She would not give birth to a pointy-eared rascal or have a new appreciation for elves and their lineage. It would simply be dull. The flare would fizzle.

Fenris had made her a better person, more in tune with differences and the woe that came with it. An ex-Tevinter slave would never win her points with the nobility or even the average Kirkwall commoner. People feared what they did not understand. The difficulty their relationship wrought was not hollow or vain. It was true.

Hawke entered the Hanged Man with some newfound perspective. Life with Fenris would not be easy, but it would be honest and most importantly, full of love.

Up the stairs and at the back of the pub was the abode of her dwarven friend, Varric. The room was clean and comfortable, even though the pub itself was a dive.

There were several unknown men huddled around the dwarf talking in hushed voices. It was a typical afternoon in the life of an underhanded storyteller.

Varric's eyes peered over the men's heads. He waved his hand and the men began to disperse. She wondered if one of her recent misadventures had been the topic of the conversation.

"Hawke," he held out his hands, "What brings you here to my humble home?"

She waited for the men to leave. When she was certain none of them were eavesdropping behind the closed door she began to speak.

"I need a favor Varric, but there's a catch."

"A catch?" Varric was intrigued. "What's the catch then?"

"You have to keep your mouth shut."

Varric rubbed his bristly chin. "That's asking a lot, Hawke. It must be serious."

"I'm desperate."

"Shouldn't you be saying that to the elf?"

"Varric, this is important to me," Hawke motioned to the door. She was on the verge of leaving. "This was a bad idea. Maybe I should go."

"Hawke, wait," Varric pulled out a chair. "Take a load off and I'll try to be less of an ass, but I'm not making any promises."

"This is...difficult." She rubbed her forehead. "I know you have been supplying Anders with books from Tevinter."

"Is that what this is about? I think Blondie is just curious what life is like for a mage in Tevinter. Ballsy, wouldn't approve but they hate each other anyway."

"Ballsy and Blondie? I worry for you some days. It scares me what goes on in that mind of yours.

"It scares you?" he chuckled, "It's my mind thinking up this crazy shit."

She raised a polite hand. "But you misunderstand. I'm not angry. I want you to find a book for me."

"Oh." He was confused. "So, you want me to find you a book about Tevinter? Call me crazy, but wouldn't the elf have a problem with that?"

"Not exactly. I need a book that will help me understand..." she hesitated, "Fenris's markings."

"Let me guess, you don't want the broody bastard to know what you are doing." Varric sighed. "You know he will eventually find out, Hawke or you'll tell him. You really are a terrible liar."

"Yes I know," said Hawke. Her voice was riddled with guilt and shame. "But you do not know how he suffers and if I can help him I will do it at any cost."

"You really do love that glowing son-of-a-bitch don't you?"

Hawke shrugged. A red tinge crept into her cheeks. "I thought that was blatantly obvious by now."

"I'll see if I can help. Just tell me exactly what you need."

"Thank you, Varric. I owe you one."

"You owe me several, but if you buy me a pint I'll call it even.

She hugged her friend. "Thank you."

"Hawke, that was weird and it made me have an emotion. Don't do it again or I'll have to talk about it."

Hawke slapped Varric on the back. "I just realized why you won't say anything about this."

"And why is that, madam?"

"Because then you would be the hero of the story."


	10. Chapter 10: Wicked Grace

Chapter 10

"Uh oh!" Varric shuffled his cards. "Someone is in trouble."

Fenris surveyed Varric's room. A smaller table had taken the place of the lengthy monstrosity that often pinned people to the wall when they tried to leave their seats. Tonight, Wicked Grace was the game of choice.

Besides the dwarf, Donnic and Anders were present. The mage was an unwelcome sight, one that Fenris greeted with mixed emotions. In the end, he decided to stay, if only to best his archenemy and feed his ego. It seemed cruel in a way, like taking candy from a baby, but his pure unadulterated hatred for the mage won over any senseless need to be nice.

"Were you speaking to me, dwarf?" Fenris pulled out a chair and took a seat next to Donnic. "Why must you think there is a problem?"

"Well, it's midweek and instead of cuddling up with Hawke in front of the fire, drinking your fancy champagne, you're consorting with three very hairy men in a vomit encrusted pub," he chortled. "Call me a naughty nug-humper, but I'd say something is wrong."

"I came to play cards," Fenris shrugged the comment away. "And we drink red, not white."

"You came here to brood, elf," said Varric.

"I could brood anywhere. Why else would I allow my thoughts to be troubled by your company?"

Varric and Donnic exchanged a knowing glance, the type shared by men who have endured a relationship or two. Anders remained unchanged.

"For that lie, I'm demoting you from ballsy back down to broody," Varric reshuffled the deck. "I've seen this type of domestic bliss a million times and if you don't believe me, ask Donnic why he is here."

"Donnic, _why_ are you here?"

"Aveline and I... had a disagreement."

"Take note," Varric pointed at Donnic like a teacher would a book. "He admits to it like a broken man, Fenris."

"Not that it is any of your business, dwarf, but I am the one who has been wronged."

Varric gasped, "No, you don't say!" He placed the deck of cards on the table and folded his hands. "Hence, the brooding."

"She has been made aware that I am unhappy," Fenris leaned back into his stiff chair. He tried to ignore the inane looks of disbelief from his friends. "I expect there will be an apology."

"That was your first mistake, Fenris" Donnic took a swig of his ale. He appeared to be truly disappointed. "Have you learned nothing?"

"Apparently not."

"Oh this should be good," said Varric. "The elf is getting lessons in love."

Donnic ignored the comment like so many before. "Women are never wrong."

"That is ridiculous," said Fenris. "Hawke is not infallible." He took a sip of his cheap wine and grimaced. "She has often admitted to her mistakes."

"Oh... no no no," Varric waggled his finger. "That was before you were a couple. Things are different now, elf."

Donnic nodded in agreement. He looked like a man reliving a traumatic event. "I hate to admit it, but Varric is right. I can't remember the last time Aveline apologized to me and meant it."

"Is it even possible for the dwarf to be correct?" Fenris smirked. "Your words frighten me, my friend."

"Aw, broody made a funny," Varric motioned to the barmaid for another round of drinks. Norah walked away in a huff. "So, I've got to know, why are you angry with Hawke?"

"She was inconsiderate and that is all I will say."

Fenris twirled his wineglass between his fingers. Varric noted the extra dose of melancholy in his voice and thought about his earlier conversation with Hawke.

_There is definitely something off about the elf_, thought Varric. _Two days ago he actually smiled and now he's willingly sitting here across from Anders. This isn't about Hawke. _

"Well, she was considerate enough to take you back." Anders rolled his eyes. "It's nice to see you're putting her first."

"No one asked for your opinion, mage."

"I thought she had more sense." Anders looked as if he had just stepped in something vile. "I guess I was wrong."

"You are often wrong," said Fenris, "though you refuse to admit it."

_Great, the pissing match has begun_, thought Varric. _Where's Norah with my drink?_

Varric pointed towards Fenris and Anders "Donnic, meet the twins, bitch and moan."

"Who's bitch?" said Donnic.

"Do I really need to answer that?"

Donnic smiled. He ignored Fenris's scowl. "Lighten up, Fenris. Men come here to get drunk and forget about their problems not add to them. Maker, I know I do."

"You should listen to him, elf," said Varric. "After you leave here you've got plenty waiting for you at home."

Fenris eyed Bianca with a flicker of fake admiration. "I'm starting to see the appeal of a crossbow."

"Too bad, Bianca likes a man who knows how to pull her trigger." Varric looked lovingly at his aerodynamic weapon. "Besides, it's not like you'll be returning to some domineering dwarven lady with five ugly children, its Hawke. Half the men in Kirkwall would cut off one or both of their family jewels to be in your shoes."

"Would that be my nonexistent shoes?"

Varric took note of his 'I hate the world' demeanor and decided to say something else. "Alright, most men would love to be in your place."

"They would have to kill me first," said Fenris.

"That can be arranged," said Anders.

"That's a bit hasty, Blondie," said Varric. "If the elf dies it will ruin the plot for my new story. We can't have that."

"Marian and I are together, mage, whether you would accept it or not," Fenris folded his arms. "And I would prefer it if you refrained from offering your inept services to my lady."

"Could you stop saying her name, elf, otherwise I'll think Hawke actually has feelings and stuff. It will get... personal."

"And Hawke feels the same?"

"Let it be, Anders," said Donnic. "Will you deal, Varric?"

_Thank the Maker for Donnic_, thought Varric.

"Sure. Andraste is wild, minimum bet five silver."

Varric dealt the cards. The players watched the dwarf's hands closely for any signs of cheating. There was finally peace while they contemplated the game.

"So," a mischievous smirk sat easily on Varric's lips. "I once saw Hawke naked."

"Varric, your lies grow more extravagant the longer that I am acquainted with you," said Fenris. He upped the ante and continued to stare at his cards. Varric's words were preposterous.

"Oh yeah," Varric matched his bet. "She has a small mole just below her right shoulder blade and another just above..."

Fenris threw his cards onto the table. Donnic took a peak at them. "Dwarf! How do you know this?"

"Well, I guess if we're being picky it was half-naked." Varric refused to look at Fenris. His cards were more interesting and safer. "You know, the good thing about that half is that the other half doesn't know you've seen it."

Varric's aggravating smile broadened the more he reminisced.

"I'm not sure Aveline would approve of this, but I have to hear this story," said Donnic.

"So. Do. I." Fenris emphasized each word like a mother waiting to hear her child's naughty story told.

Varric thumbed towards Fenris. "This was before Hawke laid eyes on old pointy-ears and ruined everything."

"Very funny," said Fenris.

"Hawke, Carver, Aveline and I were headed back from Sundermount. Other than seeing Hawke naked, the whole trip had been a waste of time."

Fenris raised a disapproving eyebrow. His cheeks were flushed. Varric was only mildly worried, but he hurried along with the story just in case things turned ugly. It had been one of his less than great ideas.

"Anyway, we stopped off to make camp. Hawke decided, in the middle of bandit country, that she needed to be girly and went off to have a bath in a nearby pool. But she didn't tell anyone. So, as I came out of the bushes, there she stood naked. Maker's breath, that was a sight."

"And exactly how much of her did you see?"

"It was enough to know you are one lucky bastard and any other sane man would be home right now."

"Wait... Hawke never leaves camp without telling someone," Anders added in a thoughtful tone.

"I must have not heard her say, then," said Varric.

"Yeah right," Donnic smiled. "And why were you in the bushes again?"

"Hey, you're going to get me in trouble with the elf. Stop it."

"You are already in trouble with the elf," said Fenris.

"Oh get over it, broody. Besides, you get to see her naked whenever you want and she lets you touch her. Maker knows why," he mumbled. "The rest of us have to use our imaginations."

"I demand you imagine someone else," said Fenris.

"I'll just make a mental note of that," said Varric. "There's always Isabela but she doesn't leave much to the imagination. It's kind of a good time in reverse."

The three men continued to play cards with Fenris and Anders arguing on occasion. As the night progressed, Fenris became intoxicated to the point that it was necessary for Donnic to help him home. When they reached the mansion, Donnic patted him on the back.

"Why are you angry with Hawke?" Donnic propped Fenris up.

"I don't remember," said Fenris.

"That's probably for the best."

Donnic knocked on the door and waited for Bodhan to answer. But it was Hawke who stood before them.

"Ah," she smiled. "I see you found something of mine."

"Good evening," said Donnic. "I thought you might like it back."

He urged Fenris forward. Hawke wrapped her arm around Fenris's waist and balanced him upright.

"Thank you."

Donnic bowed his head, "Good evening, Serah."

Hawke closed the door with her foot. She guided her drunken lover upstairs and onto the bed. Fenris smiled in her general direction.

"Hawke," he croaked, "where am I?"

"Home," she whispered.

"And where is that?"

"With me."

"And what are you wearing, Marian?"

"Not much."

"I had hoped you would say that."

And with that, Fenris fell soundly asleep.


	11. Chapter 11: Thwarted

Thanks again for the reviews, favorites and alerts! If you need a recap go to Chapter 9. Hopefully it all makes sense. ;)

Chapter 11

The cellar made a perfect interrogation room. It was cold and dusty and cavernous enough that no voice would reach the surface. There were disregarded shackles and slaver whips still present in the disused rooms. They had proven useful.

Hawke walked backwards and forwards in a slow steady pace. Fifteen minutes had passed and she was still no further forward.

"Again, Varric."

The whip cracked and the man screamed.

"So, tell me, why did you decide to double cross me?" Varric rolled the whip into a tight circle. He was willing to use it again. "Because I have to tell you this isn't going to end well unless you start talking."

The torchlight accentuated each droplet of blood as it rolled down the man's swollen face. Tight shackles around his wrists and ankles kept him bound in place. He could not avoid the whip.

Varric stared at his once trusted informant. Everett was doubled over in pain, his face and body bruised and torn from the capture. If it wasn't for the irrefutable evidence, Varric would never have thought the man capable of such treachery.

"Who bought you?" Varric shoved a piece of paper in front of Everett's face. "And what's the elf's name?"

Everett slowly raised his head. He tried to focus on Varric, but his eyelids were too blood encrusted to open.

"You going to kill me then, Varric?"

"I swear by the ancestors, that if you tell me the truth I'll let you live and I'll get you out of Kirkwall." Varric stroked his chin. "I've got to say I'm rather disappointed that I broke you in twenty minutes."

"I'd be a dead man anyway if I didn't leave. That bastard would kill me for sure."

Varric placed a dust ridden chair in front of Everett and took a seat. "Alright, I'm listening."

"I contacted an old friend of mine who used to captain a Tevinter spice ship. He was a jack of all trades but a master of none, if you get my meaning. I asked him if he knew anything about an expensive book that talked about lyrium."

"You mean Vance? The part-time slave trader?"

Everett nodded. "That's the one."

"Yeah, he's dead."

"You killed him?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Varric as if the mere thought of murder was preposterous. He continued in an amused tone. "We didn't kill him. Hawke's boyfriend did about a week ago. That's how we found out that you were being paid to spy on me. Vance had some papers he was supposed to give to you from your "other" employer." A sigh of disappointment escaped Varric. "Luckily for you, Hawke found the papers before Fenris."

Everett's head twitched. "That's what this is all about isn't it, the damned knife-ear with the funny tattoos?"

Hawke neared. "Did you tell him I was after a book that would explain Fenris's markings, Varric?"

"Of course not, Hawke. I told him I wanted a list of pricey Tevinter books about lyrium." Varric shrugged. "I figured that was a good place to start and it didn't give much away."

"How do you know about Fenris?" she whispered in a fearsome tone. "You're not intelligent enough to have figured out the connection between his markings and lyrium. You've heard something."

"Burgamond, that rich merchant in Hightown is after the book, only it isn't just a book," Everett wheezed. "There's a staff."

"Burgamond?" The words rolled off Hawke's tongue with hatred. "Are you certain?"

"Yeah, Vance was the one who took me to him. Burgamond asked me all sorts of questions."

"Like what?" Varric scooted closer. He was looking for any signs of deceit.

"He wanted to know who wanted the books and why. I told him I didn't know anymore than Varric told me. Then he asked me if I'd seen anyone talking to Varric alone. I told him I saw the Champion come in the night before." Everett tried to smile through his pain. "It's kind of easy to figure out if you think about it."

Varric smacked Everett on the side of the head. "Five years you worked for me and I thought I could trust you. I won't make that mistake again, you backstabbing bastard."

"So, Burgamond is doing this to spite me?" Hawke began to pace again. "And how did he find out about the staff?" The question had been rhetorical. She was surprised when Everett answered.

"Well, that elf that I brought back from Wildervale knows all about magisters and Tevinter and whatnot."

Hawke's eyes narrowed into thin slits and her lips pursed "What elf?" she spat.

"Her name reminded me of Varric's name. I can't quite remember."

The blood drained from Hawke's face. "Varania?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"We're well acquainted." Hawke turned blood red. She didn't want to believe Everett but it was obviously the truth since few people knew about Fenris's sister. The anger that coursed through her veins caused a small spark to ignite at the tips of her fingers. Everett was too blind to see it, but Varric was fully aware. He scooted his chair away from the outraged mage.

"She's working for Burgamond?" Varric was almost lost for words. "Why the hell isn't she back in the Imperium?"

"All I know is that I was supposed to mention her to Varric and give him the note," said Everett.

Varric rubbed his forehead. His well-made plans were turning out to be the stuff of nightmares. "Then I'd tell Hawke that Varania wanted to meet her, but why? What's in it for that crazy bitch?"

"Gold," said Hawke. "I can't believe I moved Fenris to pity because I believed she was a victim. Now I am not so certain. I want answers, Varric."

"So, where is she now, Everett?"

"She's staying at Burgamond's mansion."

"Of course, he wouldn't risk her being seen by one of us, or worse, by her brother," Hawke looked to the ceiling. The situation was beyond belief. "I wish I had let Fenris tear her heart out."

"We'll go to her, Hawke," said Varric. "We'll have the upper hand."

Hawke lifted the parchment Varric had been holding and read the information. "She wants to meet me in the alienage. The meeting is for tomorrow night." A fireball from her hand turned the parchment to dust. "This time I won't be taken for a sentimental fool."

"What about me?" said Everett. He shifted uneasily in his chair. "You going to let me go?"

"Not exactly," said Varric. "I can't let you go just yet. I've got a friend in Antiva that will keep an eye on you while we work this out. You might not like where you'll be living, but it's better than being dead."

Varric and Hawke started to walk away.

"You're just going to leave me here?"

"I was planning on frying you with a lightning bolt," said Hawke with a smirk. "One night in the cellar seems a fair trade. What do you think, Varric?"

"I think he's one lucky bastard," said Varric. "If I'd had my way, Bianca would have found a new playmate, but a night in the cellar with the Darktown rats will save her the trouble."

They ignored Everett's pleas to be set free as they walked through the passages of the cellar. Hawke placed an enchanted lock on the door just in case Fenris decided he needed a new bottle of wine.

"I've got to tell you, Hawke that this is turning out to be one big pain in the ass. You sure the elf is worth it?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "You sure you can handle it?"

"You wound me." Varric placed his hand over his heart. "I've spent my life dealing with a backstabbing brother, this is nothing, Hawke. But..."

"But?"

"You should tell the elf. It doesn't seem right that we should have all the fun."

"I think Fenris is all 'funned' out. Besides, Varania is practically family. I'm sure she wouldn't mind a heart to heart with her possible sister-in-law."

"I'm damned glad you're not one of my relatives, Hawke. I'd be scared shitless."

"I'm just a big pussy cat, Varric," she soothed.

"Don't cats have sharp claws and pointy teeth?"

"They're only scary if you're vermin."

"And what about Varania, the loveable sister?" said Varric in jest.

"Let's just say that this pussy wants to pounce."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: Naughty but Nice

Notes: I had tons of problems getting this chapter to post! Ah! *glows blue* Hopefully, third time is a charm. Sorry for all the extra alerts. :(

"Marian, it would seem that you have been naughty...again."

"Oh? What are you talking about you, crazy man?"

"Come here and find out."

"I can do that."

He stood before her topless, his chest proud and firm. The white markings swirled in a grapevine fashion from breast to bellybutton. What had been done to him was cruel but oddly beautiful. Whether those markings were there or not, Hawke would not have cared. She adored him.

Fenris pinned Hawke's arms against the wall. The lyrium began to burn bright with the promise of bodily paradise. Lines of sweat raced down his exposed chest. The perspiration rained over his abdominal muscles and continued downwards to his leggings. He had been practicing his swordplay. That thought alone aroused Hawke. She loved to watch his maneuvers, each one full of grace and timed to perfection. Fenris was a continuous distraction on the battlefield.

He kissed her forehead with genteel affection. It was a deceptive gift of endearment before he ravaged her body. His weight shifted and Hawke was now sandwiched between the wall and Fenris.

_I can think of worse places_, thought Hawke.

Soft Elven lips brushed and nuzzled the outline of her ear. She was enchanted by the sensation until he started to lick. It made her squirm.

"Fenris! It's wet. Stop it!" she giggled.

The elf flashed a broad smile, something he only did when in the presence of his lady.

"Since I allow you to indulge in the licking my feet, a most peculiar fetish by the way, then it is only fair that I am allowed mine."

"But I'm not an Elven woman! Slobbering all over my ear does not make me wet elsewhere!"

The licking began anew. Tears streamed down Hawke's face. She could not stop laughing and the harder she tried to escape the more he licked.

"I'm going to pee myself! Stop it Fenris!"

He heeded her warning. When she could see, Hawke noticed that her tormenter was quite satisfied with his work.

"Do not forget that I do know where you are ticklish," said Hawke.

A mischievous eyebrow rose. "I will show you where I am ticklish." He placed her hand on his balls.

Her smile wilted into a smirk. The "ticklish spot" felt the stroke of her experienced fingers; they were well acquainted with this part of his body. She cupped and squeezed, massaging the delicate sac between his legs. It was a defining feature that she lacked, and it gave her great pleasure to see him enjoy her touch. Fenris rubbed against her roving hand, his eyes closed and he shuddered when her fingers ascended to the head of his hardness. She thumbed the head, tracing the outlines of the folds beneath.

"You know," she whispered. "I'm certain you're not ticklish here."

"Be quiet, woman," he breathlessly answered.

Hawke tried to bite back a laugh, but hearing Fenris call her 'woman' like some chauvinistic dockworker was too much. The back of her hand proved useless when it came to muffling the sound of laughter.

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Why are you laughing at me?"

"You growled and called me woman," she started laughing again. "Is this something you learned from the men at the Hanged Man? You know, there is a reason why they are drinking with their buddies and not getting laid."

"I most certainly did not." The typical irritated look was displayed. "Are you mocking me, Marian?"

The laughter faded. She had not meant to offend him.

"I didn't mean to..."

Her words were cut short. Fenris had pushed her against the wall. There was no escaping his gaze. The finery was untied and her milky skin beneath exposed.

He paused and soaked in the features of his lover. Hawke followed the movements of his eyes noting where they strayed. The scrutiny verged on uncomfortable, but the erection against her stomach was reassurance enough to know that Fenris was pleased.

"Marian, your breasts are magnificent. Never have I seen a finer pair in all my travels."

"What about Isabela's?"

"Are you really asking me about another woman's breasts while I suck on your nipple?" He grinned. "You may continue if it pleases you."

Marian wrapped her arms around his neck. "I knew you weren't really angry with me," She kissed his smile. "By the way, has anyone ever told you not to talk with your mouth full?"

The admiration ceased. He smothered her mouth with ardent kisses that nipped and tugged at her lips. The affection spilled over into a frenzy of biting and clawing. He hated to mar her beauty, but he could not resist the aggressive urge to leave his mark on her neck. It was a sign to those who questioned their relationship that he truly pleased Marian. She was his.

Black leggings dropped to the floor. He wrenched a handful of her hair and pulled her head backwards. The muscles in her neck were elegant and held aloft the face that he loved best. Exposing her neck was like opening the shell of a ripe oyster, the pearlescent skin had a virginal quality, a beauty unmarred by the light of day. The tip of his tongue bathed it with ardor. It was a part of her few could access. He slid a free hand down her back and onto the rounded curvature of her ass. Languid kisses trailed away from her lips and lit onto the top of her breasts.

He took one in hand.

The pert tit was awash in open-mouthed kisses. Both breasts found the flick of his ingratiating tongue to their liking and responded to the praise with hardened nipples. He flipped Hawke so that she was now enjoying the view of polished granite. The ripe nipples felt his touch again. His fingers twiddled and plucked and sent Hawke into a fit of fidgeting. In response, she began to rub her ass against his erection.

His hand snaked between her legs. There, he found the folds of her skin sodden from her arousal. The touch of his finger on her clit made the blissful frustration mount. Deep within, her muscles throbbed and begged to feel him enter. The more he rubbed the harder she pushed against his hardened dick. Fenris could stand it no longer. He forced her to bend over.

Hawke braced her arms against the wall. She was being pounded from behind. The feel of his nails along her hips, digging deep into her flesh made her open wider. She wanted full penetration. The slap of his balls against her ass only added to her need and she begged him to go faster.

He obliged.

The panting and the moans of his lover sent Fenris flying over the edge. It was not often that he would simply fuck Hawke. But today, she was like a bitch in heat and he loved it.

The movements slowed to a snail's pace and with one more thrust and shudder, Fenris moved from her body. He would now see to her needs.

Hawke was lifted into his arms. As he carried her to the bed, their lips met in heady waves, both yearning for the other. Her back lit softly on the covers.

"Stand at the foot of the bed," whispered Hawke. "I have something I want to show you."

The vixen winked at Fenris. He was mildly confused, but extremely intrigued.

She opened her legs to display the wetness created by their combined love. Her fingers lapped it up, and with deliberate strokes, she began to pleasure her body. Fenris watched as his seed was used to bring her to the point of ecstasy. The sight alone hardened him and he desired to be in her once again.

Hawke was pleased when he climbed between her legs. There, he used his cock to tease her opening apart with his swollen head. He would enter only to pull out. Hawke placed her feet on his shoulders and rubbed her sweet center with more intensity.

"Fenris," she was breathless. "I swear by Andraste that if you do not stop teasing me I will castrate you."

"You do know how to turn me on, Marian," Fenris gave her a half smile. "I suppose I could oblige."

He plunged into his lover with force enough to drive the wind from her lungs. The pace verged on violent, but she wanted him to fill her full. She used her fingers to open her slit wider, to take in all that he had to offer. Fenris arched his back directing his might into each thrust. She was cumming and he wanted to please.

Every filthy word in her vocabulary was uttered as her muscles tightened around his cock. The once tense body relaxed and melted into the covers. Fenris bathed her lips with kisses, pausing only to whisper words of endearment. Hawke's eyes were closed, but the faint upturn of her lips told Fenris she was satisfied. She remained open to him, allowing him to reach the pinnacle of his elation undeterred. As he came, she watched him, his reddened face and the movement of his scruffy hair, a beat behind each thrust. Hawke loved this man. Every day she wanted to please him, give him joy that he had never received. At the moment he was fulfilled, but she wondered even as he found release, if there was hidden pain caused by memories he could not keep. Those fleeting moments of clarity into a life he had once lived was unkind. It was the worst kind of tease. And it was for this very reason that she would always sacrifice her own happiness if it meant giving him peace.

Once he was able to move, Fenris drew Hawke into his arms. He petted her and whispered endearing remarks in her ear. She felt bathed in love and returned the adoration twofold.

"I love you, Fenris."

"I know and... I you."

"Do you believe in fate?"

"No, not really."

"Fenris, you could at least entertain the idea." Hawke stroked his hand. "Think about the odd things that we have witnessed over the years. Surely, you do not believe it was all coincidence."

He sighed. "This is one of those moments when women are right. I finally understand Donnic's wisdom."

Hawke smiled with warmth. Often, Fenris struggled to understand people, especially women. The others were slowly corrupting him, and if truth be told, she was as well.

"I am always right." There was mirth in her voice. "Are you just now figuring this out?"

"Be quiet, woman."

She giggled like a mage who's smoked too much medicinal hemp. "Fenris, honestly, it is impossible to take you seriously when you call me woman." Hawke rolled over and faced him. "Was it uneventful?"

"That would not be my choice of words," he said with an aggravating overtone. "You were satisfactory."

She hit him on the chest and then laughed. The lines on her face turned pensive.

"I meant, did you remember anything?"

"Thankfully, no."

He leaned into her lips and kissed them with a feather-light touch. Hawke decided to change the subject. She did not want to ruin their moment of contentment.

"What are your plans for the evening?"

"I have none," said Fenris. "Why? Do you?"

This was the moment she had dreaded. Hawke had a date with Fenris's deceitful sister. Until now, she had given little thought as to what she would say if he should ask where she was going. Now, she would have to lie to him again, create a plausible reason why she was needed elsewhere.

"I arranged to meet Aveline tonight," said Hawke. "You have your manly time with Donnic, I need my womanly time with Aveline."

"I wish you would reconsider."

He ran a line of kisses up her neck. It was hard to resist him if only for conversation. To see him stretched out on her bed, to be able to touch him when she pleased was almost unbelievable. But it had finally happened. The three year wait had made every recent moment with him precious.

"I promised," she sighed. "But," she ran a finger down his chest. "I will be back later."

He rolled over and covered his body with a pile of cushy blankets. "Rest will be welcomed after servicing you."

She hit him with a big downy pillow. "You are completely impossible."

"Leave me be, woman."

Hawke laughed. Since they had renewed their relationship, Fenris's sense of humor had improved. She put it down to better living conditions and a constant supply of food. They were technically not living together, but a month had passed and he had yet to return to the dingy mansion. A survey of the room revealed that half of the belongings were his, most accrued in the last month. Fenris received the bulk of the items from her as gifts. He had always managed to scrape by on very little, but Hawke was adamant that he stop being frugal. Profits were now split evenly between them when they worked a job together, which was always. For years she had wanted to give him proper compensation, but he would only take a small percentage even when she had insisted that his debt of long ago was paid in full.

After dressing, Hawke leaned over and kissed Fenris on the cheek. He was pretending to be asleep. She rolled her eyes and headed for the door.

"Marian."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

It was the second time she had heard those three words uttered from his lips that week. She had never expected him to be able to say it. Fenris did not like to feel vulnerable.

"And I you."


	13. Chapter 13: Et tu, Brute?

*Notes: Thank you so much to everyone for their favorites, alerts and most definitely the reviewers. I never take any of it for granted. I've been humbled by the response. Thank you!

This was a particularly painful chapter to write. I hope you can accept my use of creativity. It's not meant to be cannon or definitive in any way. It's just my way of seeing things. I hope you can enjoy.

Thanks again!

Chapter 13

Hawke, Aveline and Varric paused at the entrance of the alienage. Most of the inhabitants were indoors enjoying their evening meal. The only signs of life were two merchants packing away their wares for the day. They waved when they noticed Hawke.

Until Fenris, Hawke had given little thought to the elves and their plight. Being a peasant in Lothering was not conducive to helping the world's problems. Attention usually focused on how and when the next meal would hit the table.

Now that Hawke was an influential part of the political realm in Kirkwall, she had persuaded most of Hightown's nobility to donate money towards improving the elves living conditions. There was the odd disparaging remark, along with the adamant stance that they, the nobles, already provided numerous elves with employment. But, when Lady Hawke held out the collection bag, none had refused to contribute. They owed her their lives and she reminded them when necessary.

One of the merchants approached.

"Champion, what brings you to the alienage?"

"I am..." Hawke stilled her words. Red hair in the distance clashed with a green banner hanging from the wall. "I am just visiting a friend."

"I see your party is one less this eve." The merchant was forthright. "I hope nothing has happened to your _friend_."

"By friend you mean Fenris?"

Elves were not immune to gossip. In fact, the outlandish tales told by a peculiar dwarf at the Hanged Man had provided the weary Elven woman with the equivalent of a modern day romance novel. Hawke and Fenris's relationship was taboo, a human mage and an elf, and therefore exciting, though few dared to say that they found it romantic for fear of being shunned.

Normally, elves that chose to live and breed with humans were considered traitors to their race, but Fenris was the exception. His heroic acts while at the side of the champion, during the Quanari attack had prevented many Elven deaths. He was an ex-slave, who had conquered his master, redefined his status, earned the respect of a prince and had prowess in battle that could rarely be matched. He was a legend in his own right, but also an oddity. All of these traits painted him in a favorable light with the common population.

"Hawke," Aveline leaned in. "She's over there."

Hawke used a reassuring smile to end the discussion with the merchant. Everything needed to appear normal.

"If you will excuse me," said Hawke

"Of course champion." The merchant bowed and walked away.

The sight of Varania twisted Hawke's emotions until there was nothing left but rage. A part of her had wanted to believe that Everett had been lying. But there she stood, gesturing for them to come closer.

Hawke stopped short of Varania. Her eyes looked first to the shadows and then to the rooftops. They were alone...for now.

Fenris's sister had not changed in appearance. But, beneath the timid smile there was a hint of fatigue in her eyes. Long years of studying people had endowed Hawke with the ability to notice subtle signs of treacherous intent. It was written in eye movement, expression, and in body language that the untrained eye would disregard as insignificant. Varania, without saying a word, had given away her intent.

"Lady Hawke, thank you for coming." Varania bowed. "I was uncertain if you had received my message."

"I have to say this was quite unexpected." Hawke responded with a modest smile. She noticed that Varania was studying Aveline and Varric. It looked as if she was waiting for someone else to arrive. "As you requested, Fenris will not be joining us."

"Are you certain?"

"I give you my word." Hawke began to pace. "As a matter of fact," she said in an eerily cheery tone, "he doesn't even know about this little meeting. But I'm more than willing to entertain you as a guest in my home, if you'd like to visit with your brother."

"I appreciate the offer, my lady, but..."

"You don't feel like having your heart squashed. I understand."

"Oh, Hawke, you're such the hostess," said Varric.

Varania gestured towards an open door. "We should talk inside."

Hawke's keen eyes surveyed the house. It made Merrill's home look like a mansion. The wooden floor was riddled with holes and the leaky ceiling was pockmarked with mold. Rat droppings and other signs of vermin infestation marred the yellowed walls. A shoddy table with three chairs was the only furniture worth noting. Everything else was dilapidated. A few ornaments were sprinkled throughout, but their pristine color was jarring against a backdrop of grime.

"Nice place you've got here," Varric mumbled.

"Won't you take a seat?" said Varania.

Varric eyed the chair from top to bottom. He was worried it might bite back.

"I think I'll stand if it's all the same to you," said Varric.

Varania eased into a chair. She folded her hands in a prim and proper manner. "Your name is well known in the alienage. They speak highly of you, my lady."

Hawke noticed a leather-bound book on the table. It had piqued her interest, but for now she would allow Varania to steer the conversation.

"I have tried to improve things," said Hawke. "I guess you could say I have taken a personal interest."

"My brother has influenced your charity?"

"Fenris and my friend Merrill have enriched my life in ways that I cannot adequately express. I give what I can in return."

"I know the elf enriches my life every time we play Wicked Grace," said Varric in a happy dwarven lilt.

Varania's eyes fell to the floor. There was something odd about her expression. It was emotionally mixed between sorrow and anger.

"I have heard rumors that you are to wed my brother." Varania looked to Hawke for an answer and then away before she could reply.

Hawke folded her arms and cast a glare at Varric. "I wonder where you heard such a thing."

"What? I didn't say that." Varric shrugged. "I didn't have to. Everyone just assumes it's going to happen."

"Well, hopefully I'll be the first to know." Hawke rolled her eyes. "That is, unless you get him so drunk that he proposes to you, Varric."

Aveline had been closely observing Varania. The noncommittal expressions were unnerving. She had conducted enough interrogations in her life to know when someone was posturing.

"So, why are we here?" said Aveline. "I assume you wanted something of Hawke. Maker knows, everyone else does."

Varania scooted the leather-bound book forward. "This is a gift for my brother. It is an account of our family history, including our time in Seheron."

Hawke thumbed through the book. There were names, dates, brief accounts of significant family happenings, everything one would expect to find in a family biography.

"I thought slaves were not permitted to write," Hawke placed the book back on the table. "When I first met Fenris he could not read or write and he even appeared somewhat afraid to learn."

"My uncle transcribed this account for Leto... I mean Fenris," said Varania. "He was adamant that it was given to him."

"There's a living uncle?" said Varric. "Why the hell didn't he come to visit instead of you?"

"I..." Varania was taken aback by the comment. "My uncle is in hiding. That is all that I dare say."

"Then you knew your father?" Hawke wanted this answer for Fenris. "Is your father still alive?"

"No," said Varania. "My family was captured by slavers when Leto and I were very young. Our father died trying to save us."

"So, you came all this way to give Fenris this book?" Hawke raised an unconvinced eyebrow. "This is very charitable of you... considering."

"I thought it was the least I could do." Her eyes closed in what looked like pain. "I regret that I was once willing to do anything to become a magister."

Hawke slammed her hands down on the table. The noise echoed throughout the sparsely furnished house. She was face to face with Varania.

"By 'anything,' you mean trying to force your brother back into a life of slavery? Hawke circled around the table. She took a place behind Varania's chair. "You mean, that you would have gladly had him take it up the ass so that you could sit on yours? Isn't that what magisters do?"

Varania stood. The defiance in her stance and eyes was unexpected.

"You have no right to judge me," she seethed. "We were fine until Leto decided that we should be free. He entered the competition for the markings without consulting any of us."

"What a terrible brother." Every word Hawke spoke dripped with sarcasm. "He sacrificed everything so that your family could be free and start anew. But of course, you think Fenris got the better end of the bargain. Was Danarius a kind and loveable master after all or was he just..._misunderstood_?"

"Yeah, he looked real damn cute and cuddly." Varric shuddered. "The man made my skin crawl, and that's saying something when you live in the Hanged Man."

"You know nothing of us," said Varania. "Do not pretend to understand."

Hawke straightened her back, and then, she narrowed in on Varania.

"I want to know about the markings," Hawke's nostrils flared. Her breath was tainted with hate. "I want to know about the ritual, the book and the staff. And you're going to tell me." A small ball of lighting erupted from her hand. "Or Maker help me, I'll fry you."

Varania took one step backwards. Hawke advanced.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Wrong answer." Hawke shot a bolt of electricity through the small Elven woman. It sent Varania reeling backwards. The wall stopped her short of falling. "I want to know everything, and if you falter in word or give another excuse, the next bolt will not be so kind."

Varric edged forward. The sight of Hawke hurting an unarmed civilian was unnerving, but he believed a small amount of punishment had been earned.

"You'd better do what she says, elf," said Varric. "Normally, I'd hate to see a woman cry, but in this case, well... another round might do you some good."

Hawke pointed to a chair. "Sit."

Varania did not hesitate. She shirked away and obeyed without question. It reminded Hawke of Orana.

"We know about your involvement with Lord Burgamond," said Aveline. "I suggest you start talking."

The large olivine eyes looked away. They were Fenris's eyes, those that Hawke loved best. But she would not soften. Varania had forced her hand.

"If I talk he will kill me," whispered Varania. "I only agreed to this so that I could go home."

"With a few hundred sovereigns no doubt," said Hawke. The fake laughter sent a chill through every spine. "You are truly unbelievable."

"Tell us everything, and in return for your cooperation I'll make certain you are returned to the Imperium unharmed," said Aveline. "We need to know why Burgamond wants the staff and the book. These sorts of items are illegal in Kirkwall."

"He wanted me to deceive you." Varania rubbed the tender skin around her hand where the lightning bolt had struck. "I was to tell you where to find the book and staff, and while you searched in vain, he would acquire them."

"What does the staff do?" said Hawke.

"The staff is a magical branding iron. It allows several magisters to focus their powers on a single point and to scribe with it as if it were a quill," said Varania.

Hawke's eyes narrowed. "Does that mean you saw the magisters use it on Fenris?"

"My family was made to watch the ritual. We were supposed to consider it an honor. But it was..." Her eyes closed. "That was the day Leto died."

"Tell me what they did to him, Varania," said Hawke.

"Do not ask this of me," she pleaded. "I cannot relive that memory again."

"You will tell me." Hawke's words were emphatic. "We need to know everything about this staff."

"Fine! Then maybe your sick curiosity will be sated and you will truly understand what mother and I suffered."

The room grew quiet. All eyes were on Varania. For a moment, doubt clouded Hawke's mind. Did she really want to know? But once Varania began to talk, she was resolved to listen no matter how painful it might be to hear.

"We entered a vault in the depths of Danarius's mansion. The most prominent magisters attended, some to watch, others to help with the ritual. The room was dimly lit, but we could clearly see Leto lying in the middle on a slab of stone. He was splayed and his arms and legs bound. Mother and I could see that he was frightened, but when he noticed us, he put on a brave face and smiled." Varania paused. "Up until that day, I had never seen him unhappy. Mother had always called him her little ray of sunshine."

"You've got to be shitting me," said Varric. "Broody was... happy? Your making this up."

"Varric," said Aveline in a terse tone. "We need to concentrate."

Against her better judgement, Hawke asked Varania to continue.

"The combined power of five magisters was used to create the lyrium markings. Each movement of the staff branded a new line. When they did this to my brother, Leto's voice cracked and with each line, you no longer heard the deep cries of a man, but that of a child in pain. I still remember the smell of his flesh burning. It took four guards to keep mother from running to him. She, like me... could do nothing."

"Maker," whispered Aveline.

"His pleas abated and he said nothing. Danarius smacked his head with the end of his staff and when Leto did not move, he believed him dead."

Varania closed her eyes. Silence reigned in the room. "Leto's body twitched just as we had given up hope and his eyes opened. Mother ran to him, the magister allowed it, but even before Leto spoke she moved away and said her son was dead."

"Fenris had lost his memory?" said Aveline.

"Yes. Mother was aware he had no recollections of his former life without a word spoken between them."

"But, how could she have known without speaking with him?" Aveline folded her arms. "It doesn't make any sense."

"It is said among my people that mothers once had insight into the personalities and abilities of their children near the time of birth, and many also had the gift of prophetic foresight. My mother sensed things beyond the reckoning of most. Something of the Elvhen lingered, some sense that many of our kind no longer possess. I felt it was a curse, but mother was proud of what she considered a remnant of "the people".

"He really didn't recognize his own mother?" Varric shook his head. He felt a deep sorrow for Fenris. "That's... I don't know... to go from knowing his family to nothing..."

"He lost everything in a day," Hawke rubbed her eyes. They were wet but not overflowing with tears. "In some morbid way, it was a blessing in disguise. If Fenris had remembered his family it would have been a slow form of torture."

"After that day we mourned." Varania's voice was haunting. "He was dead to us."

"I understand now." Hawke's words were shaky and held less conviction, but she carried on. "Fenris isn't your brother, he's just another person. Leto's dead in your eyes, yet..." She grunted. "Yet... you're jealous."

"I am not," said Varania.

"The day you betrayed him it was obvious you were jealous. You said he got the better end of the bargain."

"He did," replied Varania in a wispy voice. "Leto did not have to watch mother die or prostitute to make ends meet." The anger in her voice began to grow. "_He_ had a warm bed and food, while we didn't even have a pot to piss in. Leto was supposed to take care of us."

"And there it is," said Hawke. "Finally, the truth comes out, the sense of entitlement."

"He said he wanted to give mother and me a better life and that he would do anything to make it happen. My uncle filled his head with ridiculous notions that freedom was the ultimate prize. But it wasn't."

"He did what he thought was right," said Aveline. "Maybe it was shortsighted, but I don't see how that warranted betraying him to Danarius."

"If it had been Leto that day, instead of Fenris, he would have traded his freedom so that I could have become a magister. _He..." _she began to cry_, _"wanted a better life for _me_."

"Well, enough of the heart-warming family history," said Hawke. "Why does Burgamond want the staff and book?"

"I don't know." Varania was struggling to catch her breath between bouts of sobbing. "I did as he asked and now I am finished with the matter."

"You're lying," said Hawke. "You knew that I was looking for the book and the staff and I suspect that you even know why I want them."

"Those items cannot return his memories," said Varania. "What has been done to him is done."

"How can you be so certain?" said Aveline. "Even if you could read, I doubt the magister left the book lying around for just anyone to peruse."

"She has a point," said Varric. "Does anyone even know what's in this book? We're all assuming it has the answer to Fenris's problem. It could be filled with pictures of trees and rainbows for all we know."

Varania's look gave away her lie.

"You do know what's written in the book don't you?" said Hawke. A small ball of lightning began to crackle in her hand. "Tell me everything."

"Please, my lady, I have told you everything." Her hands rose to guard her face. "Take pity."

The lightning shot through Varania before Aveline could object. It was followed by another bolt. Varric had to cover his eyes for fear of going blind. When it was done, he looked down to see Varania on the floor. She could barely move.

Hawke stood over her, the shadow from her body encompassed the elf's entire form.

"Tell me the truth and I'll let you live. Lie to me again and you'll wish I had let Fenris crush your heart."

"You would not kill me in front of a city guard." Varania's voice was weak. "Besides, Lord Burgamond will kill me if I betray him."

"I'll just ask Aveline to step outside or turn around." Hawke leaned over so that her eyes were deadly close to Varania's. "Now, if you would like a sporting chance, tell me why Burgamond sought you out."

Varania looked to Aveline. The guardswoman simply stared back as if torturing people was not considered a crime.

"I would talk if I were you," said Aveline.

"Lord Burgamond has connections in Tevinter," said Varania. "He would have helped me become a magister."

"Why can't you just let that go?" said Varric. "There are much better jobs than being a magister. They're hiring over at the Hanged Man. I can put in a good word for you."

Varania's eyes narrowed on Varric. He finally saw the family resemblance.

"I'm certain the location of the staff and book wasn't enough to convince Burgamond to invest in such an expensive venture," Hawke studied a vase on the table. It was an obvious prop. "Making you a magister wouldn't come cheap."

"No, he wanted more of me," she gasped. "Lord Burgamond learned from a friend, a magister, that the lyrium could be removed from Fenris's body. He would once again become an ordinary elf. But, Burgamond pressed the issue. Short of killing Fenris, he wanted to ensure that my brother would leave Kirkwall. He asked me to erase his memories and to return with him to the Imperium. I agreed. But you were to never know." She began to beg. "Now please let me go."

"Fenris only wanted for you to be a part of his life," said Hawke. "He would have done everything in his power to make you happy." Her eyes began to well. "Why would you do this to him?"

"I knew what he wanted from me," said Varania. "But it was not what I wanted."

"No, you wanted power," said Hawke. "You wanted to become the very thing that tore your family apart." Hawke took two steps backwards. "I was once a neutral party in this matter. I wanted Fenris to spare your life because he was the better person. It was one less guilty act that would plague him. But I regret doing that now."

"I thank you again for your kindness, my lady."

"You won't thank me for this," said Hawke.

A bolt of lightning ripped through Varania's body. It was followed by several balls of fire. When the deed was done, there lay only a burnt corpse.

"Maker, no!" Aveline screamed. Her eyes were wide with terror. "You killed her!"

Hawke spit on the charred body and walked away.

"And the bitch deserved it."

Varric covered his nose. The smell of burning flesh was too much to take in. Part of him wanted to run from the building. For the first time since his brother's betrayal, the dwarf was in shock.

"Fuck!" Hawke kicked the table. Dishes and silverware scattered in the wake of her strike. "I knew..." Her chest heaved with every breath. The pain, the excruciating agony of it all, the murder, the senseless torture Fenris had endured, the enormity of what she had learned came crashing down and the pain would not abate.

"I wanted to know, but this... Aveline... I..."

"Hawke, you poked and you prodded and now you know," said Aveline. "You can't expect to take the scab off of a wound and not have it hurt."

Hawke doubled over and heaved. It was reminiscent of the first time she had seen someone murdered. Aveline looked away. She had never witnessed this reaction from her friend, not even when her mother was destroyed by Quentin.

"Let me get you a glass of water," said Aveline.

Hawke motioned for her to stop. She braced her arm against the wall.

"All these years Fenris had told me about the agony. But never, not once did he tell me the details and now I know why." She stared blankly at her friends. "The burning power of five magisters focused on a single point... can you comprehend the pain?" Hawke began to weep. "For the first time in my life I am ashamed to be a mage."

"Hawke, I..." Aveline struggled to find the words. There were none.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!" A vase went flying against the wall. "I swear by the Maker that I will not rest until I have that book and staff. I will strangle Burgamond until he breathes his last breath and then I'll raise him from the dead and cut him again."

"Hawke, I know you are angry, but you shouldn't swear such things," said Aveline. "I'm not a religious woman by any means, but those words have a way of coming back to bite you on the ass."

Varric walked forward. He understood that it was straight into the firing line.

"Hawke, we should call it a night." Varric rubbed his forehead. The situation was now officially out of control. "Go home, get some rest, and we'll talk tomorrow."

She narrowed in on the dwarf. "I'm going to kill that bastard."

"I think you've done enough killing for one night, don't you, Hawke?" said Aveline. "We've got to clean this up and get out of here before one of my men arrives."

Hawke rubbed her weary eyes. She took one last look at Varania's corpse.

"I can't," whispered Hawke. "I'm sorry."

The door to the rundown house closed. Varric and Aveline stared after it. Not once in seven years had Hawke walked away from a problem.

"This may be her undoing," said Aveline.

"No," said Varric with confidence. "Not Hawke. She may be a woman, but she has the balls of a stoic ancestor. I think she just needs a breather."

"Maker, let's hope you're right."

11


	14. Chapter 14: Birthday Party Part I

Thanks to all you readers out there! Sorry, but I am behind on reviews and correspondence due to personal reasons. I will catch up!

This is a much lighter chapter. Totally insane and a two part thingy. Our Hawke is in denial.

Don't worry, Varania is not forgotten ;)

**Chapter 14: Birthday Party Part I**

Laughter floated out of the kitchen and into the foyer. Bodahn rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He noticed a smile on Sandal's face and wondered if perhaps the sound of Hawke and Fenris flirting was amusing his adopted son.

Orana made an appearance.

"By the ancestors, what are those two doing?" said Bodahn. His happy dwarven beard bounced as he spoke.

"They are making cake." Orana grabbed an empty glass from the desk. "And a mess of my kitchen," she finished with a grumble.

The maidservant crossed the foyer in a determined stride. Bodahn's eyebrows were still unsure whether they could relax or not. He had never heard Orana audibly complain.

A high pitched squeal followed by a thundering laugh echoed throughout the house. Though Bodahn found the sounds annoying, he felt it was a nice change from Hawke's dark moods. For three days she had argued with anyone who was courageous enough to engage her in conversation. He was uncertain if this was caused by the full moon or something more sinister. The dwarf shrugged while he considered the situation.

_Either way, the laughter is better than the yelling_, thought Bodahn

"Maker what _is_ that?" Hawke's eyes were wide with merriment. "It looks like Lucifer's dung."

Fenris poked at his cake. He tried to make a doggy ear out of a strategically placed strawberry.

"It _is_ Lucifer," said Fenris. He gestured towards his creation. "Can you not see the resemblance?"

"It's a sorry looking pile of mutilated confectionary not my Mabari."

"And what of yours?" said Fenris. He eyed Marian's elongated cake. "It is very... phallic."

"It's your gigantic two-handed sword," said Marian. "If it were not for the fact that I have seen you naked I would think you were compensating for something."

Fenris scooped a bit of frosting up from her cake and stuck it in his mouth.

"Fenris!" Hawke swatted his hand. "Keep your fingers off my phallus!"

"I thought you enjoyed it when I put my fingers in your frosting." He gave her a wicked grin. "I have yet to hear you complain, woman."

"I would return the favor and violate your cake, but since it already looks like someone gang-raped it with a spoon, a fork and a set of steak knives. I think I'll leave it be."

Marian wrapped her arms around his neck. Fenris wrapped his arms around her waist and they kissed. When they ceased the affection, Hawke paused. She licked away the sweet sugary cream from his lips.

"I enjoy making cake with you," said Fenris in a low sultry whisper. "It is unfortunate that you only have one birthday a year."

"You mean it is unfortunate that _we _only have one birthday a year."

"Of course." He smiled. "How could I forget my own birthday?"

Since Fenris did not know the actual date of his birth, Hawke had suggested that he share her special day. As part of the celebration, the couple had decided to make a cake for each other. It had been Hawke's idea to sculpt it into a meaningful shape. Fenris could care less. He only wanted to eat the frosting, which he had demonstrated by piling it into a large mound, adding strawberries and calling it a Mabari.

Orana walked into the kitchen. The maidservant was horrified by the mess. Dishes and cooking utensils were scattered across every surface. A fine dusting of flour covered the floor along with globs of frosting. She noticed three empty wine bottles. They were the culprits behind the outlandish behavior taking place in what she considered her domain. While Fenris and Hawke were busy groping each other, Orana took the opportunity to swear at them under her breath. Fenris's ears perked up. He had just slipped his hand under Hawke's dress when he noticed the maidservant standing in the doorway.

"Ahem." He cleared his throat. Hawke had her hand planted firmly on his balls. Fenris quickly shifted. "How may we help you, Orana?"

"Uh oh." Hawke buried her head into Fenris's chest and giggled. "I think I've been caught elf-handed."

Fenris tugged on a piece of her hair. "Shush, Marian before you damage the use of another word."

Orana folded her arms. "The guests have started to arrive and they desire refreshment, therefore, I will need the use of the kitchen soon, my lady."

"We will be done in a moment." A goofy grin spread across Hawke's face. "I just need to add the final _touch_ to Fenris's sword."

The drunken woman laughed at her own innuendo. Orana rolled her eyes. She spun around on her heel and marched off leaving the sound of an unmistakable sigh in her wake. Fenris looked at Hawke and her at him. They had just witnessed a miracle: Orana was annoyed.

Hawke blinked "Did she... is she... mad at us?"

Fenris wiped a dusting of flour from the top of his nose. "We did make quite the mess, Marian."

"But Orana has never been outwardly angry. Maybe it's her delicate time of the month."

"Bah, what possessed you to say such a thing to me?"

"I like getting a reaction from you."

"Maybe..." His voice became heated. Two firm hands lifted Hawke onto the messy counter. She gathered up the material of her dress past her waist and he slid between her legs. "Is this reaction to your satisfaction?"

"Nicely done."

She arched her back to deliberately show off her breasts. The silly grin on his face made it apparent that he knew exactly what she was doing. He assaulted her neck with firm kisses and ticklish nibbles. Hawke was delighted. Her fingers found a tuft of his hair to rummage through and to pull whenever she was overtaken by her need of him.

"Fenris... I want you," she said in a breathless whisper. "Let's go upstairs and you can do me quickly."

His lips fell on hers in fervent worship. Their tongues tangled and mingled taking delight in every touch. It looked as if they were about to devour each other. He pushed his erection against her female lips, only a slim piece of fabric separated their skin from meeting.

"I need you, Marian." His hot whisper lingered in her ear. Fenris's strong fingers massaged her breasts with a hearty grip. "We could... let's... it will only take but a moment."

An inquisitive voice made both Fenris and Hawke sigh. Anders was standing in the doorway.

"Hawke?"

"Are we in the Deep Roads again?" Hawke snuggled against Fenris's neck. "Remember how he used to find the most inopportune time to come visit us?"

"Oh... I," said Anders.

The mage looked away. Hawke gave Fenris a quick peck on the cheek before jumping off of the counter. The elf rolled his eyes and reached for an unopened bottle of wine.

"It's okay Anders." Hawke smoothed down her dress. She dusted the flour and icing off of her rear. "Come in."

Hawke shooed her naughty lover away so that she could remain composed. "We were just... decorating our cakes."

Fenris hid a smile. So far, his newfound birthday was proving to be a delight. He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Marian.

Anders feigned embarrassment but it was really hidden jealousy. He had been watching them longer than he had made it appear. To see Fenris between Hawke's legs writhing and undulating in time with the movement of her hips filled him with resentment. As far as he was concerned Hawke had taken the elf back out of pity, not love.

"What do you want?" Fenris asked with little cordiality.

"I wish to speak with Hawke," Anders stated in a contrite tone. "Not that it is any of your concern."

"Marian_ is_ my utmost concern, mage." Fenris unconsciously rubbed her back. He had meant it to be a comforting gesture, but she felt the strength in his hand. He was claiming his territory. "There is nothing more important."

Anders scoffed at the comment. "What would you know of importance?"

"I daresay I put what matters first," said Fenris with confidence. "You are too busy listening to the sound of your own voice to hear the needs of others."

Hawke rolled her eyes. It was typical of Fenris and Anders to argue for no discernable reason. Sometimes she felt it was the only way they knew how to communicate with each other. Anders reactions were often fueled by his desire for Hawke and she knew it. But, the bulk of his problems with Fenris lay in his need to prove a point when it came to the mage/templar predicament. Anders was never going to convince Fenris of anything. The elf disliked the preachy mage and would for all time.

Anders infatuation with Hawke was of little consequence. She only had eyes for one man and nothing would ever change how she felt about Fenris. Yes, he was stubborn and often narrow minded, but he had grown through the years, allowing experience to percolate through preconceived ideas. He was, with some reluctance, open to change, whereas Anders remained stale and inhibited by his own prejudices. It was pity that had ensured her continued friendship with Anders. However, her patience was waning.

Hawke dusted the flour from Fenris's tunic. "You need a change of clothes." She looked down at her dress. It was mashed with flour and icing. "And I do as well. Let me speak with Anders and then I'll join you."

The twinkle in Fenris's eye did not go unnoticed. He kissed her on the cheek before departing.

Fenris grumbled to Anders on his way out. "Mage, make it quick,"

Hawke grabbed a dishtowel and began dusting off her clothing.

"How do you live with him?" Anders flailed his arms in the air. "Why do you live with him?"

"You wished to speak to me?" She said in a polite but firm tone.

"It's been some time since you have stopped by the clinic..." He began to pace. "I thought maybe something was wrong."

"I have been busy, Anders." A fleeting memory of Varania flew through Hawke's mind. She put it to one side. "I had intended to speak with you soon."

Anders rubbed his forehead. "There is something I need to discuss with you. But it should be in private. When can you come?"

Hawke ran her hand over her face. _It's my fucking birthday. Why does he have to bring me problems? _She smiled inwardly_. I wonder if Fenris is naked yet. I wonder if he is waiting for me. Maker, I could do with some quick, hard sex._

"Hawke?"

"Sorry, I am slightly drunk." A lopsided grin confirmed her inebriation. "I will visit when I'm able to walk in a straight line and don't have to stand ten paces away from a torch. Will that do?"

Anders put his hand on his hips and huffed. "And here I thought you cared."

"Anders, it's my birthday! I usually care, but not today." She patted him on the shoulder. "Let's go have some fun."

He tried to be annoyed, but Anders could not resist Hawke's charming slurred words and rosy cheeks. She was plastered.

Hawke pulled on his short ponytail. "Promise me you will at least try and enjoy yourself?"

Hawke had a way with people. She was able to instill trust into many a wary soul. The confidence and warmth in her voice lulled people into a sense of security. She was dependable and true to her word. It was a defining factor that separated her from the norm, and one that had also brought her fortune and fame. But, for her, those things were of no consequence. Yes, they were nice, but the money she had earned through the years had been intended to help her family. Now, they were gone. The last remnant of family was Fenris. No woman had cherished a man more. This meant Hawke's unyielding generosity was coming to an end. However, for tonight, she was too drunk to give a damn.

Hawke and Anders entered the foyer. Her drunken eyes scanned the premises. She had invited her closest friends to the party. Aveline, Donnic, Merrill, Isabela, Varric, and Sebastian appeared to be happy. They were talking, eating appetizers and laughing. Tonight was a rare occasion that gave her great satisfaction.

"Excuse me," Hawke whispered to Anders. "I need to change before I'm noticed."

She raced up the stairs without waiting for his reply. The other guests soon became aware of Hawke's presence as she ascended. Each step was covered in a floured footprint. Orana practically growled at them.

"Hawke, where you going?" yelled Varric. "Is the party up there or down here?"

"Oh, there's a party going on upstairs." Isabela suggested. Her cocky grin made Varric's eyebrows rise. "How I wish I could watch."

"Yeah, but we're not invited Ravaini," warned Varric.

"I'm almost tempted to stand outside the door and listen."

Hawke closed the door to her bedroom. She was expecting to see Fenris as soon as she entered, but there was no one.

_There's my bed, my wardrobe, my chest, strange perverted drawings by Isabela, a dagger, another dagger, an old staff, but no Fenris_. _Is he downstairs? Damned elf. Where is he?_

A muscular arm wrapped around her waist. _There he is. Mmmm, I hope he has the same thing in mind as I do._

She turned to meet him. Fenris practically attacked Hawke. The momentum of his body pushed her towards the bed.

"Fenris!"

The guests downstairs heard Hawke's high pitched squeal of delight. All eyes were on the bedroom door.

Aveline's face turned a bright crimson. "Well, Hawke does seem to be in high spirits this evening."

Bodahn sighed. "They have been like this all day, messere. If I didn't know better I'd think the house was full of children with the way they have been carrying on." The dwarf put his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet. "But I suppose it is their birthday, so maybe I shouldn't complain."

When Hawke reached the edge of the bed Fenris pushed her down onto the soft mattress. It was then she noticed that he was naked. Her eyes scanned every muscle, his toned abdominals, broad biceps, indomitable chest, the angular inset of his face, any part that she found attractive. Before she could ponder his intentions, his fingers had breached her female lips. They plunged deep inside to feel for her moist arousal. Their previous adventures in the kitchen had guaranteed her wetness.

The head of his cock slipped between the folds and into her slit. She was surprised but not offended. It had been awkward conversing with Anders when her mind only cared to be with Fenris.

"I am going to have you now." It was more of a demand than a request.

Her legs opened wider. "Take me." She dug her nails into his shoulders. "But make it quick. We have annoying guests waiting."

He smirked. "Yes, it would be impolite to keep them waiting." A deep thrust made her moan. "I would not want them or you to be... _disappointed_."

She bent her head upwards and watched as he hurriedly pounded between her legs. The sight of his muscles contracting and expanding filled her with such lustful want that she was unable to keep her eyes open. The lyrium in his veins flared. Fenris panted as he neared his climax. It sounded like he was running at a brisk rate. She watched his cheeks flush and his eyes close in what looked like immeasurable pain. He was close.

"Harder," she insisted.

A single finger outlined the contour of his ear. It was enough, along with her beggaring pleas, to send Fenris over the edge. He nuzzled his head in the valley of Hawke's neck. It muffled his grunts of pleasure. When it was finished she was insistent he move.

"We have to go downstairs," whispered Hawke. The wine and colorful sex was lulling Fenris to sleep. She smiled. "You have to get up, Fenris. As you said, it's impolite to keep them waiting."

He groaned. "I require rest."

"Later." She moved to the side and giggled. Fenris had planted his face firmly into the mattress. It looked as if his body had splattered all over the sheets. "Fenris," Hawke scolded. "You must get dressed."

"I must, must I?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

Hawke dipped a cloth into a washbasin of fresh water and cleansed her body. She watched as Fenris reluctantly emerged from the bed. His eyes were heavy and his posture drooped like a cut flower without water.

"I suppose we should make an appearance." Fenris yawned. Hawke's eyes studied his body as he stretched. It was reminiscent of a newly awoken cat. "It is official. I hate social gatherings."

"What a revelation." After she had dressed, Hawke threw Fenris's tunic across the room. The sight of it offended him. "Get dressed while I go mingle."

"I will do as you ask but I will not like it."

"Yes, my Lord Broodyship, but do not be long or I will drag you downstairs by your pointy ears."

Fenris gave her a steamy look. "You promise?"

Later." She winked at him. The door opened. "By the way, Fenris..."

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday."


	15. Chapter 15: Birthday Party Part II

Chapter 15: Birthday Party II

Hawke trudged down the stairs. The small gathering in the foyer became lively when they noticed she had emerged from the bedroom. Memories of the last twenty minutes fleeted through Hawke's mind. She wanted to go back upstairs and ravish her handsome elf again, but friends were important too... she supposed.

"Hawke! Happy birthday!" Aveline said with a lift of her wineglass. The close friends shared a brief hug. "How old are you again?"

"Aveline," she pretended to be offended. "You never ask a woman her age. Besides, you already know my age, so stop with the teasing."

Aveline's eye peered over her wineglass. "Yes, but does anyone else?"

"No," Hawke smirked. "And _we_ are not going to tell them."

Years ago, when they were on the ship bound for Kirkwall, Aveline had learned a great deal about Hawke. They whittled away the time by sharing stories of their lives. Hawke wasn't the type of woman who particularly cared about growing older. It was a fact of life. In Lothering, the elderly were well respected. They'd survived to a ripe old age and defied the statistics.

The only reason why Hawke would not reveal her age was for the simple pleasure of aggravating Varric.

"Are you going to tell me this year, Hawke?" Varric flipped a sovereign between his knuckles. The question had been asked in a half-humored tone with a sprinkle of annoyance. "My audience wants to know the age of their favorite heroine and you keep denying them."

Hawke's eyebrows knotted together. "Why in Thedas do they want to know my age?" She grabbed the sovereign from Varric's hand and tossed it in the air.

"Is there an age limit when it comes to killing dragons?"

"You are incredibly nosy, dwarf."

_Fenris finally decided to join us. It took him long enough, _thought Hawke_. _A lyrium imbued hand squeezed her shoulder. _He looks tired._

Varric held out his arms towards Fenris. "Ah, it's the birthday boy. Did you just wake up from a nap, elf? You look rough."

"Was it rough?" Isabela said to Hawke and then she winked. "He looks all worn-out."

"Isabela." Aveline scolded. "Why do you always have to be so crude?"

The pirate tried to tame one of Fenris's unruly tufts of hair. It defied gravity and continued to stand on end.

"Leave my hair be, wench."

"Oh, Fenris is grumpy," Isabela said as if she were speaking to a newly awoken baby. "Someone get him a bottle of wine before he fusses."

_Life without Isabela would be boring, _thought Hawke_. Although, the rest of Kirkwall might be less... contagious if she weren't around. To be fair, Fenris does have some major bed head. _

Bodahn and Sandal entered the small foray of friends. "The table is ready, my lady, if you'd like somewhere to sit. Sandal and I also provided extra chairs like you asked."

After their last dinner party, Hawke had decided to find a table that was more suitable for her band of misfits. The oblong table in the dining room was formal and uncomfortable. It was not to Hawke's taste, but after her mother's death she could not bear to part with it. The new table suited everyone, except, perhaps, Sebastian. Being a prince, he was more of an oblong table sort of guy.

Finger foods had been prepared instead of a three course meal. The use of a fork and knife eluded some of Hawke's friends. They were used to slitting and shooting not cutting and chewing.

"Orana, Bodahn and Sandal, please come eat," said Hawke in a cheery voice. "Today is my birthday and therefore you must join us."

"Thank you, my lady," Bodahn sat down with a hearty thump. "Can I just say that it's a real pleasure to spend another birthday with you? I'll never forget last year's party. We had to practically carry some of your guests home after the festivities."

Everyone looked squarely at Isabela and Varric. "Of course it's always you same two every year, but never mind eh? You're supposed to enjoy yourselves."

Isabela looked pensive. "So, Bodahn, what kinds of things can Sandal enchant?"

_Maker this is not going to be good_, thought Hawke.

"Well, armor and weapons if he has a rune." Bodahn was giving it serious thought. "Did you need something enchanting?"

"Do you think he could enchant my underclothes?" Isabela smirked. "There are a few things I'd like to make bigger and better."

"If you make anything bigger you'll burst," said Aveline.

Bodahn's face had reddened. "Uh, yes well I don't think that's possible. But, thank you for asking."

Hawke noticed that Orana had yet to sit down. In birthday's past she had to practically chain the young woman to a seat. "Alright, Orana come sit next to me." Hawke patted the empty chair. "I want you to make sure Isabela doesn't steal any of our presents."

"Hey! I resent that!"

"If I remember correctly, which I do," stated Fenris, "I had presented Marian with a bracelet for her last birthday only to find it on your wrist the next day. Care to explain?"

Isabela shooed the comment. "Hawke lets me borrow all of her things, Fenris."

"I highly doubt that," said Fenris.

Hawke rolled her eyes. She poured a glass of wine and placed it in front of Orana. "Feel free to drink as much as you want, Orana." Hawke leaned over and whispered in the elf's ear. "I know you like wine."

"Mistress... I... forgive me."

"I will on one condition." Hawke smiled. "You must drink at least two glasses of wine and eat with me."

"Hawke, you're so cruel," Varric chugged some ale. "Can you punish me next?"

"You really are a slave driver, Hawke," said Anders without thinking. He immediately looked alarmed.

The room went quiet. Bodahn sighed. Fenris snarled and Hawke simply stared.

"I am so sorry." Anders fumbled with his words. He placed his hand on his heart. "Honestly, Hawke, I didn't think."

Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. "That is nothing new."

Thankfully, Merrill became lively. She walked around the table and proudly held out a daisy in a flowerpot. "This is for you, well both of you." A fine layer of dirt landed on the table. "Oh sorry, I planted it before I came."

"Thank you, Merrill." Hawke was grateful for the distraction. Conversation began to flow again. "Did you get this from the Viscount's garden?"

"Yes, but he's dead, Hawke, so I don't think he'll mind."

_Six years later and she's still oblivious as ever. _"Thank you," Hawke said graciously. "I'll put it in the kitchen window."

Merrill leaned over and hugged Hawke. "You're welcome." She looked at Fenris who was still seething from Ander's comment. "And uh," she patted Fenris on the shoulder, "you too, Fenris."

"Speaking of presents..." Varric pulled a bottle of aged Antivan whiskey from his coat. "This is for you, Hawke. I know you sometimes like a shot of something stronger than that tarted up grape juice."

The liquor was authentic, as she had expected. Varric had a rule of never cheating on holidays and birthdays. Hawke popped the cork and took a swig straight from the bottle. It made Fenris horny when Hawke did something common. To see her mouth wrapped around a bottle of hard liquor was like seeing a princess at the ball pulling a wedgie out of her ass crack.

"It's smooth," Hawke gasped. "Thank you."

Fenris smiled. "Should I pour you a glass of water?"

After she finished coughing Hawke was able to mutter two words. "I'm fine."

"Mmmmm yes, so it seems," said Fenris with a wicked grin. "Never let it be said that the Champion of Kirkwall could not hold her liquor."

Sebastian placed two boxes wrapped in ornate paper on the table. He slid the presents towards Fenris and Hawke.

"I hope you like my gifts," said Sebastian.

Fenris and Hawke tore away the wrapping. They had both received an amulet in the likeness of Andraste. Fenris admired both the craftsmanship and the breasts. Hawke thought it was gaudy, but she pretended to be pleased.

"These are beautiful Sebastian," said Hawke. "Thank you."

"Yes, thank you Sebastian," Fenris said. "But I do not think it would be appropriate for me to wear it."

The prince folded his arms. The remark had come as a surprise. Over the last several years, Fenris had been open to listening to Sebastian's rhetoric.

Fenris gave his friend a half smile. "It is not what you think, Sebastian. I tend to fondle my jewelry and I fear my fingers would unconsciously find their way to parts of Andraste best left unexplored."

"He'd go straight for her breasts." Isabela rolled her eyes. "Men."

"It's not like I would do it on purpose," Fenris said. "It is simply a habit."

"Yes, well Isabela does many things on purpose and she makes a habit of touching where she shouldn't," said Aveline.

"Oh shush, big girl," said Isabela. She placed a hand on Aveline's knee. "You mean like this?"

Aveline pushed her hand away. "Get off, whore."

"It's alright, Fenris." Sebastian said and added a placating hand movement. "I think it is probably for the best that you are not publicly fondling that particular piece of jewelry."

"Well, if the foreplay is out of the way, I'd like to give you my present, Hawke." Anders handed over a book "It concentrates on magical healing methods. I know you have recently been studying the subject."

"Anders, you do have a way with words." Hawke skimmed through a few pages. "I think this will come in handy. Thank you."

"It is also Fenris's present," said Anders in a stale tone. "I figured you could start healing him instead of me. I'm sure he'd prefer that."

Fenris took a long sip of wine. He said nothing nor did he look at Anders for fear of ripping the mage's heart out. What Anders had failed to mention, and what Hawke had yet to notice, was the title of the book: A Compendium of Tevinter Healing Methods.

Donnic saw the title of the book and became angry. _I may not be a mage but I am certain there are books outside of the Imperium that cover the topic of healing. What is Anders playing at? Fenris has finally started to get his life together. Hell, he even waves at people now instead of snarling at them. Why can't Anders just leave the poor fellow alone?_

For as long as Donnic could remember, he had disliked Anders. The man insulted his wife and accused her of conspiring against mages without just cause. As if that were not enough, Anders continued to try and come between Fenris and Hawke.

Donnic was aware how much the couple loved each other. During their separation, Hawke had turned away every man that sought to fill the elf's nonexistent shoes. The hopeful suitors inevitably accepted that she was unavailable. But Anders tried to take advantage of the situation. He sought to wriggle his way into her heart by attempting to make Fenris look unworthy.

There was also the matter of Ander's lying. It was becoming more blatant every day and so were the insults. Donnic had entreated him to stop speaking to his wife in a disrespectful tone, but his request had been met with dripping sarcasm.

Thankfully, Donnic was aware that Hawke was no fool, and she like her other friends had become increasingly concerned about Anders. There was something very wrong beneath it all.

Donnic smiled. He pushed a parchment towards Fenris. "This, my friend, is for you."

Fenris quietly chuckled. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Open it and find out."

Everyone had grown curious. They watched Fenris open the parchment and read the contents. Hawke tried to look over his shoulder but he moved away.

"What is it Fenris? Your intensity is scaring me."

He handed the paper to Hawke. "I am now the proud owner of a vineyard."

Varric shook his head. "What? Did the elf just say he owns a vineyard?"

"I do," said Fenris.

"He does." Hawke said in amazement. "And it is in Val Jouel?" She turned to Fenris and stared wide-eyed. "In Orlais?"

Donnic and Aveline grinned. "It's not often these days that we truly see you shocked, Hawke," said Aveline. "It makes a nice change."

"So... wait... you... I just can't get my head around this."

Hawke laid the paper on the table. Isabela snatched it up. She looked impressed and then annoyed.

"You bought it from Guillaume de Launcet? The guy whose son was so hard up for sex he told everyone he was a blood mage to sound dangour-oos" Isabela finished in her best Orlesian accent. "Why didn't you buy something useful... like a ship?"

Hawke gave Fenris a girlish grin. "Tell me the whole story from the beginning, Fenris." She tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. "I want to know why my Tevinter elf has decided to become an Orlesian dandy."

"Does anyone have some paper?" said Varric. "I need to write this shit down."

Fenris entwined hands with Hawe. "I consider this our home of course." He reassured her with a half smile. It was the first time he had acknowledged their living arrangement as permanent. "I will explain my reasons for buying this property later. It is something I would prefer to discuss in private."

Hawke kissed him on the cheek. "I understand. But, Fenris, I have so many questions."

"And I will answer them in due time."

"Oh, alright you two." Varric looked mildly disgusted. "Save that girly stuff for private time."

"I concur," added Anders.

Hawke ignored them. "I assume you had a part to play in this Donnic?"

Donnic smiled. "The de Launcets came to us with the offer. They were aware of Aveline's connections with Orlais, but of course, we were not interested. However..." Donnic patted Fenris on the back. "We did find a buyer for them, which was fortunate. They have incurred quite a large amount of debt. Something about..." He turned to Aveline for an explanation.

"Let's just say that the Comte cannot afford to keep his wife and daughters. He's trying to marry them off."

"Good luck with that," Varric laughed. He was excitedly scribbling. "Fifi and Babbette." The dwarf shivered. "Isn't that what you'd name a cat?"

"Hey," Anders chimed in. "That's an insult to cats."

Aveline handed an envelope to Hawke. "This is our present to you and Fenris."

Hawke opened the envelope. It was obvious Fenris already knew what it contained since he was smiling like a banshee. "It's travel arrangements to Orlais." She looked confused. "For three weeks?"

"Donnic and I are going to join you on the third week," Aveline appeared to be excited by the prospect. "We were informed that the cottage requires some renovation and we want to help."

"I... well I don't know what to say." Hawke faked a smile. What was Aveline thinking? They had to stop Burgamond from obtaining the staff and book. According to Varania, the shipment would arrive while they were gone. "This is all very sudden."

Fenris was desperately awaiting a positive reaction. She noticed the questioning look and kissed him fully on the lips. It was something they rarely did in front of the others.

"I guess we're off to Orlais!"

_Make no mistake_, thought Hawke _I intend to have words with Varric and Aveline in the morning. For now I will enjoy the evening with Fenris. _He was already discussing the property with Donnic. _For Maker's sake, Orlais_, thought Hawke. _It's a good thing I love you Fenris._


	16. Chapter 16:Festis bei umo canavarum

Thanks to everyone for their favorites, alerts and an extra special thanks to the reviewers!

This is not a tame chapter! This was supposed to be released on Valentine's Day, but it just wasn't ready. Plot moves forward after this chapter.

**Chapter 16**

Fenris kicked the bedroom door open. When it hit the wall, Hawke jumped and instinctively tightened her grip around his neck.

"Don't damage the door!"

"Marian, even I am not blessed with strength enough to hold your ass in one hand while I open the door with the other."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Don't. Start. That." Fenris carried her into the room and threw her onto the bed. She bounced around like a fish out of water. He quickly straddled Hawke before she had time to question his movements. "Give me your hands."

Hawke did a thorough perusal of the body perched on her stomach. Fenris, being an elf, was smaller than a human man, but had the strength of three. Every muscle was chiseled and toned from years of swordplay and hard won battles. The long legs that flanked her body were lean but powerful. On the battlefield she admired how they flexed with each swing of his sword, and when he was dressed in proper attire, their length was elegant and straight. If it wasn't for his scruffy hair, she was certain many women would find him debonair. Hawke made a mental note that she would improve Fenris later. For now, she was happy to admire what he had on offer.

"Damn I'm good," said Hawke.

"Dare I ask?"

"You're already turned on," she said and then smirked. "Your eyes give it away every time and," she brushed a finger over his groin, "that immense bulge in your leggings."

A slight blush tinged his cheeks. "If you would like me to continue you will remain quiet."

Hawke grabbed Fenris by his tunic and pulled their mouths together. After a heated kiss that left their lips aching, he pinned her hands to the bed. The tip of his tongue traced the outline of her curvaceous lips, licking and suckling until they were sodden. The ties of his leggings came undone and his cock emerged. He rubbed the head of it along her mouth savoring the occasional brush of her tongue. Without a word or questioning glance, she opened. It was the first time Fenris had been this spontaneous and Hawke was going to make certain it would not be the last. She took everything he had to offer deep into her mouth until his balls were resting on her chin. There was a questioning look in his eyes. This was not what he had planned and she knew it.

Hawke bobbed up and down on his cock with determined strokes. Each time she made certain the head hit the back of her throat. Fenris's eyes rolled backwards, the feeling was sublime. After he had gained some semblance of control, he watched his dick slide between her lips, his balls stroke her face and, once again, he had to close his eyes to stop from cumming. This was not what he had in mind. It was Marian's birthday and he had wanted to please her in the bedroom.

The pace had slowed and Hawke was confused. _Did I accidentally hurt him? I'm sure I didn't. Maybe this is reminding him of something unpleasant. _She studied the elegant face of her lover. The expression was one that she recognized well: Fenris was struggling with some thought. _There's one way to get him to think about something else. _She started sucking his cock. When Fenris tried to withdraw she kept her mouth glued to him. But, with a gentle nudge she released.

"I am sorry for my selfishness, Marian."

"Fenris," Hawke's half-lidded eyes were drunk with lust. "I want you to fuck my mouth." She suddenly looked thoughtful. "It turns me on too."

"You want me to... ummm?" He sounded unsure. "Marian, it's your birthday and I want to please you."

"It's our birthday and I want to do this for you and I'm going to."

She took him into her mouth and suckled, which left little doubt that she had every intention of finishing the job one way or another. Fenris enjoyed the play of her tongue along his length, the rub of it against his glans. Always he was patient and kind with his movements, making certain that she was comfortable. Hawke grabbed his ass and set the rhythm. This lessened his guilt and he relaxed.

He clutched a handful of her hair, and as he began to succumb to his euphoria, Fenris wrenched it and worried the strands. Hawke massaged his balls with her fingertips until she felt them tighten. A moment later and she felt the warmth of cum in her mouth.

"Festis bei..." Fenris started.

"Umo canavarum," she finished with a smile on her face. "Yes most likely. But I suspect that if I am the death of you, it will be a happy ending."

Fenris smiled down at Hawke with loving affection. "That I do not doubt." He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and admired the elegant shape. Hawke, he was finding, was adventurous in all her endeavors. The reddened skin of her bottom lip attracted his attention. It was the shade of a ripe berry and just as tasty. He leaned in and took it between his lips and playfully tugged. Hawke decided it was an invitation to explore his mouth. Their tongues entwined and mingled and every movement was savored.

Hawke was the first to break away from the oral dance."So..." Her smile was laced with exaggerated sweetness. Fenris saw it for what it was: feminine manipulation. "Exactly what did you have planned, Fenris?"

Fenris smirked. Sharing a home with Hawke was not only intimate but also deeply satisfying. When the urge struck, he could simply reach out and she was there whenever he wanted. To see her face first thing in the morning and the last at night was a gift he would never take for granted. Three years had been squandered, their relationship and her feelings thrown to the side because he had been a coward. Fenris vowed that would never happen again. All he wanted was to spend the rest of his days pleasing this woman, his Marian.

"Would you like to know what I had planned for you?"

Hawke rolled her eyes."That's a silly question my scrumptious elf."

"Give me your hands, Marian."

"What? Why?"

"Just do as I ask, woman."

Hawke raised a lazy eyebrow. It was unlike Fenris to be adamant when it came to a naughty night in.

"This is new." Hawke purred. "What are you going to do to me big boy?"

He gifted her with a half smile. "You are incredibly drunk, Marian." She placed her finger in his belly button and giggled. Fenris slapped it away. "Give me your hands. I do not wish to receive another undignified prodding from you."

A silly smile formed on her lips."You can give me an undignified prodding if you like."

Fenris shook his head. It was going to be a long night. A lengthy strand of red silk dangled over her breasts. He used it to bind her hands together. "Lean forward," he whispered.

Hawke's eyes closed. The low timbre of his voice had caused a wave of heat to wash over her body. There had been men who could charm the pants off of a woman with a mere glance, but there were few, if any that could make her loins throb by the sound of their voice alone. Fenris was the exception. On a very drunken and rambunctious night, Hawke had finally admitted to her lover that she often tried to draw out their conversations just to hear him speak. He had been amused by the confession. Now, even on missions, the elf would make a point of whispering something sultry in her ear. A blush would form, her nipples would harden and she would have to take a moment to restore her composure. Usually, thoughts of Varric naked sped the process along.

Fenris placed a tender kiss on her forehead, and after, he blindfolded her with more red silk.

"I hate to tell you, Fenris, but none of my friends have enough money to pay your ransom."

"Do I need to cover your mouth as well?"

Hawke began to squirm around the bed like an inch worm. She was trying to sit up. Fenris believed that if she could see herself now, gravity would be the least of her concerns.

"Come here," Fenris pulled her hips down. The tie around her robe came undone and she lay exposed. With a gentle touch he removed her underclothes. Hawke could hear the unmistakable sound of her elf getting naked. She wanted to touch his chest, his arms... all of him.

"Are you going to untie me soon?"

"No," he stated.

"That's no fun."

"It will be," he said with assurance.

"For who?" Hawke sounded bewildered, but highly amused.

Fenris parted her legs and admired the beauty of the female form.

_Three years I debated whether I was worthy of this woman. When I decided that I was not, humility brought me peace. And it was then that I knew I truly loved Marian. _

His elegant fingers massaged one of her delicate feet. A few kisses made her toes wiggle. The soft touch of his lips careening down her leg combined with the occasional lick sent ripples of pleasure throughout her body. It tickled and yet it felt so good.

Not being able to see his next move was a pleasurable torture. Strategically placed kisses delighted and surprised. Goosebumps formed on her skin as the tip of his tongue barely touched the flesh of her inner thigh. Fenris was being a tease. His lips meandered close to her female lips but they never touched. After several minutes of this, Hawke began to lose control. She felt his breath near her opening, the heat of it washing over her most intimate part. Hawke raised her hips in anticipation. When he moved, she began to pout. His triumphant chuckle was another bruise to her ego and she would not have hesitated to hit him if her hands had been unbound.

_He's too damn clever for my good. Pointy-eared little shit._

"Fenris! You are driving me insane." Hawke could not see but she got the distinct impression that he had a satisfied smile plastered across his face. "Touch something... important... that I like. Leave my legs alone, you little ogre."

The touch was unexpected, but divine. When he licked, every nerve focused on the bud between her legs. Hawke raised her hips and met the stroke of his rhythmic tongue. She could feel strands of his fine hair brushing over her mound caressing it like fine strings of silk.

"Fenris," she said in a hazy whisper. Her fingers tangled into his hair when he increased the pressure against her clit. "This feels too fucking good."

The tip of his tongue barely stroked the skin, but it did so with speedy flicks. Hawke tried to force his head forward to increase the feeling. Fenris slid his hands under her hips and raised her off of the bed. Her ass was now resting against his chest. Tremors of pleasure and frustration made her writhe in anticipation. The rocking of her hips was furious, every part of her trying in vain to relieve the tension. And then she snapped and warmth spread throughout her loins. His tongue slid into her opening and dipped into her release.

Festis bei..." Hawke began.

"Umo canavarum," Fenris finished with a smile. "Was it... satisfactory?"

"Almost," she smirked.

"I am not finished."

The next thing she felt was his dick embedded in her cunt. Fenris was fast and talented when he set his mind to something. The pace was gentle, but deliberate. He pushed the blindfold away and a beautiful sight was revealed. Fenris had his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes clearly displaying what he felt.

"I love you," he whispered.

A large smile spread across Hawke's face. "Are you getting sentimental on me, my lord Broodyship?"

A light chuckle followed her statement. "Never."

Their lips met in droves of soft kisses. Hawke wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked against him with an over exaggerated movement. Fenris rolled his eyes. He kissed her forehead before using the full force of his pelvis to drive deep within his woman. Hawke raised her arms above her head, feeling completely uninhibited. While she lay beneath him, Fenris studied her face and then immediately turned his attention to her breasts. They bounced in response to his movement, flaunting their pertness and ripe nipples. He eyed them with contempt. Already he was nearing the end.

A torrential storm was raging inside Hawke's body. She was on the cusp of her orgasm. The muscles tightened around Fenris's cock, which fueled his frustration and increased the agonizing throbbing of his dick. Hawke felt her legs being lifted over his shoulders. The penetration was deep, his balls crashing against her ass and his cock filling her completely. Her legs spread allowing him greater access, until finally, the agonizing pent up frustration released into a massive climax. Hawke lifted and thrust against him with all of her might. The sound of his mate yelling stirred Fenris's masculine instincts, filled him with the need to dominate. He fucked her with such intensity that Hawke had to brace her arms against the headboard to stop from crashing into it. When it was done the half smile told her everything she wanted to know: Fenris was satisfied.

"Marian." He was trying to catch his breath. "Why do you allow me to do such improper things to you?"

"It turns me on, besides it is only improper if not done properly."

Fenris remained within Hawke. Their bodies offered a unique closeness when joined, something that only they shared. His head came to rest upon her bosom. She smiled at the lump of white hair that hid the face of her lover, a face she felt should never be covered.

"But, our intimacy is in stark contrast to the personality your portray when in the company of others." Fenris kissed her on the lips. "You do not seem the submissive type."

A deep rumble bellowed through her chest. Fenris enjoyed the vibration on his ear. "Maybe I like it when you rule the bedroom and dominate my body. Does it bother you?"

Fenris chuckled. "No. I rather enjoy ravaging you, Marian."

She ran a finger over the outline of his ear. "Then we should leave it at that."

"Agreed."

Fenris rolled onto his side and pulled Hawke into his arms. For a time, he nuzzled into her hair, savoring the smell of lavender and honey. Before fatigue set in and he succumbed to sleep, Fenris decided he was the luckiest man in Kirkwall. And nothing would ever again keep him from this woman.


	17. Chapter 17: Revelations

This is an important chapter just so you know. If you're following the plot and don't read it, the rest of the story will be even more confusing than it is now. It's the turning point or something like that. ;) Thanks to everyone for their support, reviews, groovy love, and a special thanks to Mr. Weir's American English and Composition class. (don't ask) :D

**Chapter 17**

_Rebels? Is that what you call this paltry band of miscreants?" Danarius strode in front of the Fog Warriors with his hands clasped behind his back. The air was thick with his sense of superiority. "You have the Quanari on your eastern shore and the Imperium on your western, and you believe you have the might and intelligence to one day reclaim this cesspit you call home? You are but a gnat's tadger away from being the next sale item in Minrathous."_

_Fenris was embarrassed by the insult. He somehow felt responsible for Danarius, as if his master was the relative who only received invitations to funerals and weddings. The days spent with the rebels had proven fruitful. They had shown him a life free of the bonds of slavery, where affection was given freely and people were treated with love and understanding._

"_We will not let you take him," a proud voice stated. "Fenris belongs to no one." The leader of the Fog Warriors stepped forward. He showed no fear in the face of a man who believed he was almost invincible. The leader spat on the ground near Danarius's feet. "You can not have him, patchka."_

"Patchka," Fenris muttered in his sleep. "Cursed son of a whore." A smile played on his lips. "Danarius."

The sound of Fenris's voice awoke Hawke in the still hours of the morning. Though her eyelids felt laden with lead, they opened. There was no sound or movement... everything was as it should be. Fatigue set in and she closed them once more.

"_Kill them! Kill them all!"_

"_I..." Fenris hesitated._

_Danarius drew back his hand, a sight that would have made most people flinch, but Fenris, as always stood unmoving. Physical abuse could be endured because it was easy to understand, even rationalize. The master is displeased, the body is hit and the brain admonishes itself, learning from its mistake. But, death could not be undone. _

"_Do as I command!" Danarius lashed out. The blow ripped open Fenris's bottom lip, and from the gash, blood sprang up. "There is no I, slave, only master! Have you forgotten that I own you? You do not shit, piss or breathe unless I decree it."_

"I will not obey." Fenris declared in a loud voice. Every muscle in his body had tensed and his veins rose from his skin ready to provide the energy to fight. The enemy was a phantom nightmare, nothing more, but his brain fed on the past fear and readied its attack.

The words had been spoken with enough clarity and force to rouse Hawke from her sleep. She looked to her lover. Fenris was mumbling incoherent words; his face a picture of agony.

_He is dreaming_, thought Hawke. _It is most likely_ a _nightmare or perhaps a lost memory._

She laid a hand over his pounding heart. "Fenris," she whispered. "Wake up, my love."

"No!" Fenris roared and bolted upright. "Thenas!"

The pattern was always the same. He would relive a fragment of his past in vivid detail. Usually, like tonight, it was the death of the Fog Warriors by his hand. His eyes were open, but vacant, life stilled as he endured the emotional trauma. A thin veil of sweat covered his body and dampened his hair. Hawke often struggled to bring him out of the dream. Tonight, the soothing words she uttered snapped Fenris back into the waking world.

"Why did I do it?" The question had been asked a multitude of times. "Why?"

Hawke cradled his face in her hands. "Did you choose to be that person?"

"No." His eyes tightened. "But I..."

She kissed him lightly on the lips and then whispered against them. "Keep the chains broken and they will be honored."

Slowly, and with effort, Fenris nodded his head. He openly wept without reserve. "Thenas," he whispered.

Hawke opened her arms and he found his way into them. "She would look on you now and be proud, Fenris." Strands of his white hair fell through her fingers as she petted and soothed. "You have come so far."

Thenas had been the one to find Fenris wounded in the Seheron jungle. The elderly mother of three and grandmother of six, treated him as her own, nursed him back to health when others would have left him to die. Many of the men considered him a liability, and with good cause. The magister would come back for his property and send hunters to seek him out. Their concerns proved to be founded, Thenas's mercy cost her people their lives.

Hawke removed a sachet of powder from her nightstand. She poured it into a glass of water. "Drink, Fenris."

Fenris would rarely agree to drink the potion, but tonight he eagerly swallowed. For years, Hawke had been aware of the nightmares and she had offered to help, but Fenris, being obstinate and proud, refused. The first week after they had started living together, Hawke sought out her friend, Sol, the alchemist. He managed, with her aid, to create a concoction that numbed Fenris's thoughts. It was used sparingly, since it often rendered him unconscious or extremely drowsy the next day. Tonight, the pain was too close to his heart, Hawke could see it in his eyes and she refused to allow him to suffer it. A rapid heaving chest slowed and moved like the waves on a calm ocean. She held him until he found peace, and with the care one would show a newborn, she guided his head onto a pillow.

Two hours later and there was a knock on the bedroom door. It meant only one thing: something was wrong. Hawke covered her body in domestic finery, an outfit suited to the confines of her house. Sunlight streamed in from the eastern window and cast a ray on the sleeping form of Fenris. There were many moments Hawke treasured, but watching Fenris rest was a simplistic pleasure that she could never dismiss as mundane. It was beautifully understated. She kissed his forehead and brushed away a few stray hairs from his face. If she was lucky he would awake in time for the evening meal.

Orana stood in the doorway wringing her hands and worrying her skirt. The maidservant tried to sneak a peek into the room, looking for the object of her infatuation. Hawke stepped outside and slowly shut the door. One day, she hoped, Orana would find a man, though it was doubtful since she refused to leave the confines of the mansion.

"My lady, please forgive me, but you have guests."

"Who?" Hawke asked.

"Varric and Aveline."

I am surprised Varric is here so early," said Hawke with raised eyebrows. "After a party I usually do not see him for several days."

Orana blushed. "He never returned home, my lady. I... found him asleep in front of the fire in the study this morning. Lucifer was curled up next to him." The maidservant failed to stifle a giggle. "I am sorry."

Hawke draped a hand over Orana's forearm. "If anyone needs to apologize it should be Varric."

"Yes, my lady," said Orana, and then she smiled.

"Will you tell Varric and Aveline that I will be but a moment? My morning tea comes before conversation."

"Of course." Orana bowed. _The mistress does need her tea, for without it the monster rears its ugly head. _

Orana scurried off to deliver the message. There was something different about the young Elven girl. Even in Hawke's current disheveled state she had noticed a light spring in her step and highly animated expressions.

"My lady!" Bodahn yelled. "I need a word if you don't mind."

"Tea first." Hawke held up a hand and continued to walk away without even sparing a glance.

"But, my lady..."

"Tea!"

Bodahn shook his head at Sandal. "If she had any idea what I have to show her I'm certain she'd skip that cup of tea. My boy, things are going to be pretty interesting today. Just you stay out of the way."

Once the morning ritual was completed, Hawke remerged from the kitchen refreshed. Morning tea was a necessity that would be forsaken only for a life threatening situation, or for wanton sex with Fenris.

The dwarf waved his arms in the air to get her attention. "My lady, you've received a birthday present that you need to look at!"

Bodahn's plea fell on deaf ears. "It can wait," said Hawke with conviction. The irritation in her voice was thick and the manservant's confidence waned.

"She's really not a morning person, Sandal," Bodahn muttered.

"Enchantment?" Sandal said.

"I hear you, my boy," Bodahn replied. "Let's hope her friends have better luck."

Hawke opened the door to the study. Varric and Aveline were sitting in front of the fire, whispering in hushed tones. If the dwarf was suffering from a hangover, he was showing no sign of it. Aveline, however, looked like hell. Bags of skin sagged under her eyes, she was pale and forlorn, the epitome of a person who had enjoyed all life had to offer a little too much. Even her armor had lost some of its luster.

Hawke decided to do away with cheerful greetings. She needed answers. "Would one of you kindly tell me what the fuck is going on?" "My birthday was... interesting," she added in a deceptively perky voice. "Fenris bought a vineyard and I have travel arrangements for three weeks in Orlais. Am I the only one who sees the flaw in this holiday?"

Aveline rubbed her forehead. Last night's events were pounding in her head. But she would be damned if Hawke was allowed to lay this mess at her feet. "Fenris bought the vineyard of his own accord, so save your speech for someone else. Besides, it is important that you go to Orlais. It can't be helped and honestly... it couldn't come at a better time."

"What?" Hawke shouted. "When did you learn to speak rubbish, Aveline?"

Varric found the statement amusing, but for the sake of his continued existence he said nothing. He was a small man in the middle of an argument between two powerful women; a likely place for a dwarf to be emasculated.

"What Aveline is trying to say, Hawke, is that you should tell the elf the truth," Varric said with the utmost care.

Hawke towered over her friends. "I will tell Fenris when I am ready," her voice rang against the stone walls. "Until then, keep your opinions to yourself, Varric."

Aveline stood, unimpressed by the attempted intimidation. "Hawke, you need to tell Fenris about Burgamond, and preferably while you are in Orlais. I refuse to be a part of this any longer. I will not keep hiding the truth."

"Are you threatening me?" Hawke's fury was unleashed. Varric looked to the door. He was convinced his dwarven legs could get to it before his body was flamed. "Would you really tell him without my consent, Aveline?"

"I would." Aveline placed her hands on her hips. "He is my friend, Hawke. That is reason enough to tell him of my involvement in this mess. However, it would be best for you to speak with him first." She closed the gap. Hawke looked at her and sneered. "But so help me, if you come back to Kirkwall without having confessed, then I will not hesitate to tell him every detail."

"So, let me get this straight. I go to Orlais with Fenris, see this..." she shook her head, "this winery and while we are frolicking through the grapes I tell him I killed his sister?"

The words made Varric cringe. He was still unable to shake the memory of Varania's charred remains. By the ancestors, the smell of burning flesh was not something one soon forgot.

"I would not have phrased it that way, but it will do," Aveline folded her arms over her chest. "Like it or not, it has to be done."

It was the first time in two years that Aveline and Hawke had openly fought. Neither would back down and it was looking doubtful that an agreement would be reached. A log hissed, seeming to mimic the mood of the room. Varric tried in earnest to think of something to say to persuade Hawke to tell Fenris about Burgamond. But nothing came to mind. He turned his attention to Hawke's desk. It was something of a mess, much like its current owner.

_Why must they press this? _"If I agree to leave, and I am not suggesting that I will, Burgamond gets the book and the staff."

"Hear us out, Hawke," Varric urged. "You really need to go to Orlais."

Hawke's mouth twisted in anger. "Why can the trip not be delayed? Why is it so urgent?" She could not make sense of their insistence. "Fenris and I can arrange to go later."

"If you tell Fenris about Burgamond while you are in Kirkwall he will do something rash," Aveline was beginning to plead. "But, if you wait and tell him once you are in Orlais, it will give him time to deal with the problem in a somewhat rational way."

"He will brood," Varric chuckled. The dwarf needed a dose of wit and humor to still his nerves. Confronting Hawke was never easy, especially when it involved her beloved Fenris. "But, brooding is preferable over ripping the guy's heart out. Imagine that scandal. An ex-Tevinter slave kills richest noble in Kirkwall." Varric shook his head and tried to ignore the severity of the situation. "Yeah, I don't see that going so well for the elf or you. Meredith would say you used blood magic on broody and she'd finally have a reason to haul you off to the gallows."

_They are hiding something_. "What is it that you two are not telling me? You say I need to go to Orlais as if my life depends on it."

"Not your life, Hawke, your relationship," Aveline affirmed. "Have you not discussed the vineyard with Fenris?"

"There has not been time."

Varric gave some thought to their raised voices. Surely, the conversation could be heard in the foyer. "Where is broody?" he asked. "Aren't you afraid he will hear us?"

"You are too nosey, Varric," Hawke said, her voice awash with distaste. "I had to give him the powder."

"The nightmares have returned?" Aveline was concerned. "He hasn't mentioned it to Donnic."

"They never stop," said Hawke in a solemn whisper. "But at least he finds some peace now." She dismissed the matter with a wave of her hand. "What about Burgamond? Who is going to see to him while I am in Orlais?"

"Well, Isabela and I have got that covered," said Varric with confidence. "Hawke I've known you for years and I've never questioned your judgment... until now. Let us handle this."

Hawke's eyes widened. "Isabela? She knows?" _Hopefully, the damned pirate can keep her mouth shut better than Varric. Maker, what a mess._

Varric rubbed the back of his neck. He was looking sheepish. "I had no choice but to enlist her help. Burgamond has people patrolling the docks night and day. Who better to distract them than Isabela?" The reassurance Varric placed in Isabela's skills had convinced Hawke of nothing. "His thugs are ruthless. But lucky for us, the ship has been delayed. That's the only reason why Burgamond hasn't been able to get his hands on the book. My contacts also say that there's someone else trying to get a hold of the same merchandise." Varric shook his head. "This magical torture stuff must be worth a pretty sovereign if people are going to this much trouble."

"I do not care what they are worth." Hawke said in a vehement tone. "If I have to kill Burgamond to get them I will."

"Do you hear yourself?" Aveline was ready to incur her friend's wrath again if need be. "What if someone else acquires these items before Burgamond? Will you kill them too? Hawke, it's gone too far."

"You heard Varania, the knowledge in that book can be used against Fenris. I will not allow anyone to hurt him even if it means my own freedom."

"That is exactly why you need to back away from this," Varric added cautiously. "Love makes people do strange things, and you're the best example I've seen so far." He clenched the arms of his chair, determined to get through to the mage. "Let us handle it, Hawke. We can do this."

Hawke's eyes flicked between her companions. "I will not task someone else with this... it is simply too important."

The dwarf was leaning forward, almost raised from his seat. The calm relaxed demeanor he used to fool his enemies and to manipulate people was fading fast. This was a friend and the stakes were high.

"Why not?" Varric was on the verge of getting angry. "Just remember, Hawke, that long before I found you begging my brother for a job, I was swindling the swindlers. Sometimes I get some help from a pirate, but mostly, I manage just fine on my own."

"All of this is my fault, Varric." Hawke declared. The mage's voice was faltering. "I should have involved Fenris from the start. Now, my selfishness has given Burgamond the power to hurt Fenris in a way that none of you can fathom. I must keep him safe, and I will."

"Hawke, I may not be a mage, but I think I grasp what is at stake, and that's exactly why you should tell him the truth," Aveline said, confident that a warrior such as Fenris could handle any aggressor. "Fenris has a wolf at his back. He needs to be told so he can be ready."

Hawke lifted an eyebrow. "Do you want him to go back to being a paranoid wreck, go back to believing the world is against him and that he'll never truly be free?"

"Fenris _is_ a free man, Hawke, and with you and his friends at his side he knows the world is not against him," Aveline said in a definitive tone. "But..." she hated what she was about to say, "this isn't about his fears. It's about yours." Aveline found the strength to continue. "You would try and protect him from the world."

"I would not lose him at the hands of a raving lunatic like I did my mother, Aveline," Hawke's words were filled with hurt and then anger. "If you cannot understand, so be it."

"Fenris is not your mother, Hawke," Aveline insisted. "He survived slavery and a life on the run before you two had met. He is a survivor and a damned good warrior. If you continue to coddle he will resent it."

Hawke pointed to the door. "Get out."

"Hawke, wait a minute..." Varric couldn't let things end like this. "We can work this out."

"Both of you leave before I become violently angry."

Varric shook his head. For the first time since he had known Hawke he refused to agree to her request. "No. I'm not leaving. As a matter of fact, you're going to hear me out for a change."

Tiny sparks jumped between Hawke's fingers. "Varric do not push me."

"I promised Aveline I wouldn't say anything but you've really left me no choice," he sighed. "I wouldn't be much of a friend if I walked out of this room right now."

Aveline tensed. "Varric you can't tell her. It wouldn't be right."

"This is the only way," said Varric without remorse. "You can stand there and posture all you want, Aveline, but I know damn well it's just an empty threat. You'd never tell the elf the truth without Hawke's consent," his voice rose and he pointed to Hawke. "She knows that too."

Aveline shrugged. "It's true; it's your choice, Hawke. I only wanted to convince you to do the right thing."

"I will tell Fenris on my own terms, and when I am ready." They had her best interest at heart that was certain, but as far as she was concerned the matter was closed. "I promise... I will tell him."

"Marian," said Varric. The use of her given name shocked Hawke. Not once in six years had the dwarf called her by it. "You will probably hate me for this, hopefully not forever, but I care too much to watch you throw everything away." Varric hesitated. He drew one long breath and let the words flow. "Fenris wants to take you to Orlais so he can propose marriage."

"Varric you shouldn't have," Aveline whispered.

The words were spoken and every one true, but Hawke could hardly comprehend what she had heard. "Fenris, is going to propose?" She stood still, drawing in slow breaths.

Varric felt the guilt welling up inside. "That's what this whole thing is about; the vineyard, the trip to Orlais and... other things."

"The vineyard?" Hawke wondered at its significance. "I have to admit, I would like to know why Fenris decided to buy a property he has never seen. It seems a bit out of character."

"All I know is that he bought it to impress you and to have a free supply of wine." Varric smiled. "He's a practical man, I'll give him that."

"Hawke listen..."

"Not another word." Hawke closed her eyes. "I will lose him, but I will not hurt him further by waiting until after he proposes." Tears began to stream down her eyes. "Leave please. You have what you came here for."

Aveline's sorrow was written on her face. "No one wanted this, Hawke."

"He will forgive you," Varric said with warm reassurance. "You will see."

She did not answer or move. Varric and Aveline closed the door softly and left her in solitude, which is how Hawke believed she would spend the rest of her life. It was over.


	18. One that loved not wisely but too well

Thanks again to everyone for reading. This was supposed to be a 1 chapter story. It decided it was a Frankenstein and developed a life of its own. Hey, any excuse to write Fenris is okay by me. :)

I know some of you were hoping for a gruesome chapter. I thought it was going to be more... errrr descriptive in the gross part, but it just didn't turn out that way. I tried!

**Chapter 18**

Hawke watched the embers glow and fade; each one pulsated like a miniature heart. Their rhythmic beauty provided a sorely needed distraction after the discussion with Aveline and Varric. Many times during her life she had sought the comfort of the hearth. It was synonymous with home, a place to contemplate life.

She added a log and stoked the fire until flames were born from the agitation. They thrashed and danced along the surface of the virgin wood, reminiscent of new lovers vying for dominance in the heat of passion. That brought a smile to Hawke's face... Fenris.

"He wants to propose marriage," Hawke mumbled and the smile faded from her lips. "Why is my life always a cruel irony?"

Three years Hawke had waited for Fenris to decide what he wanted, whether she would become a permanent fixture in his life or if he needed to move on. The situation was made more unbearable and confusing by his refusal to discuss the problem. Hawke found irony in the fact that it was probably Danarius who had brought them back together. If he had not returned to try and recapture Fenris, they may have remained in romantic limbo forever.

Life had aged since the death of Danarius, and Fenris had matured to possess many fine qualities. The elf still grappled with his past life. Nightmares and lost memories interfered with the present, often confusing his understanding of freedom and all that it entailed. Hawke turned her attention to other matters. Thinking of Fenris before her confession was too painful.

_What advice would my father offer if he were here? None that I would choose to hear, I am certain. _Hawke looked to the heavens, to the face of her father and wondered if he was indeed at the Maker's side.

Faith had never taken a prime role in Hawke's life, however, she believed in the Maker. She wondered if her father was looking down from His side, disappointed by her recent behavior. There was little doubt in her mind that her mother was annoyed, but, her father, Malcolm, had always been moved quicker to understanding than to anger. Logic combined with empathy and an indomitable wit were his preferred tools when it came to dealing with life. None of those things were going to prove useful when she told Fenris the truth.

Three hours had passed since Aveline and Varric's departure. Fenris would be waking soon, accompanied by a sour disposition and an angry stomach. The man deserved a good meal before being told his lover burned his sister to a crisp. Hawke decided she could no longer find sanctuary in her study. Whatever happened, she had resolved to face it, and if need be, beg Fenris for forgiveness. It would be a futile endeavor but it gave her some sense of hope.

Bodahn was sorting through the latest order of potions when Hawke came into the entrance hall. The dwarf was patient and kind; his adopted son Sandal being proof of his giving nature. Hawke held a respect for him akin to that of her own father. In an unusual way, Bodahn and Sandal had become family.

"What is it that you must show me, Bodahn?" Hawke remembered the mysterious birthday present. "If Meredith sent the gift I have no intention of opening it." Despite her sour mood, Hawke found a smile.

Bodahn had heard the conversation in the study, watched her friends leave in a pitiful state. The muffled sobs behind the door affirmed his suspicions; she was finally going to tell Fenris. He had been aware of the inevitable debacle since its infancy. But, after three hours of hearing her suffer, the dwarf had been moved to pity. He wondered if Fenris would be as forgiving.

"I know this isn't the best time to show you this, my lady, but, well, I thought it might be of some importance." Bodahn led her to the entrance hall where a small bundle of cloth lay on the ground. "Here it is."

Hawke's forehead crinkled. "You brought me here to show me a pile of washing, Bodahn?" She prodded it with her foot. "Why?"

"I thought it was a delivery from the washerwoman too, my lady, when the boy handed it to me." Bodahn untied the rough string that was holding the rags together. "But then, I cut the string and..." the bundle unfurled to reveal a white wolf pelt. "I'm afraid it's a bit more sinister than that."

The wolf's head had a knife protruding from it. On further examination, Hawke noticed that the animal had been skinned within the last 48 hours. Blood still dripped from the remains.

Hawke's face contorted into one of horror. The pelt was a symbolic threat against Fenris's life. Her hand went over her mouth and angry tears fell from her eyes. She was thankful that he had not been awake to see it.

"Excuse me," she stated between clinched teeth. "This is one present I will be returning in person."

"There was no note, my lady. I don't have the faintest clue where it came from." Bodahn stared into the empty eye sockets that had once held the keen eyes of a noble beast. He was disgusted that it had been slain for sick amusement. "If you want, I'll chase down that delivery boy and return it for you."

Hawke was not fooled by Bodahn's attempts to play ignorant. The mansion was too small for eventful things to go unnoticed, especially by a man who had a prime spot to observe and overhear everything.

"You know where I am going Bodahn," said Hawke and she opened the door. "I will be back shortly with Lord Burgamond's head."

Bodahn slipped in front of Hawke. He splayed his arms in an attempt to stop her from leaving the mansion. "My lady, I know you are dreadfully angry. It's not right what he has done, but I beg you, please do not go there alone," he tried to catch his breath. "Besides, you're not even dressed. Your feet are bare."

Hawke pushed him aside. "Fenris seems to manage fine without shoes." She started to walk away. "Just popping out for a moment. See to the mansion while I am gone."

"I just... can't believe this. That woman is too damn proud," Bodahn muttered under his beard. He watched the Lady Hawke stomp away, dressed only in her thin finery, with a blood stained wolf pelt at her side. A trail of blood followed in her wake. "What am I going to do?" Bodahn stared hard at the master bedchamber door. "By the ancestors, there's no time to get Varric and I'm not waking that elf," he sighed. "Well, then there's nothing for it. Stay here, Sandal, and don't follow me, my boy. I'll be back."

The door to Burgamond's estate was flanked by two templars. This was something Hawke had not expected. _Why would they be guarding his estate?_ _It seems unlikely Meredith would approve. Maybe Burgamond is possessed and they are inside killing him right now. _She let the satisfying idea percolate through her brain. _Nope. I am not that lucky._

One of the templars stepped forward. "Champion, what brings you here?" His eyes drifted to the bloody wolf pelt. "I assume there is reason that you are holding that dead animal in your hand?"

Hawke held the bloody pelt aloft and examined it like one would a pretty flower or a priceless piece of jewelry. "Well, my good man, you see, this was a birthday present, a very fine specimen I might add, but I'm afraid it is too extravagant for my tastes. I have come to return it to his lordship."

The templar's lip curled in revulsion. Drops of wolf blood were splashing against Hawke's toes. "Lord Burgamond does not wish to be disturbed." He noted her inappropriate attire. Something was amiss. "There has been a threat against his life. We suspect a blood mage."

_Since when has the Knight-Commander ever taken an interest in the affairs of someone outside of the templar order? This is... odd._ "The Knight-Commander ordered you to play bodyguard for Lord Burgamond? Well, she is full of surprises. I am most upset, that after all these years, I failed to notice her kind and caring nature. I must invite the old girl around for tea and crumpets some time."

"This was not at the behest of the Knight-Commander... Champion." Hawke did not like the tone of the templar's voice. "We have volunteered to help his lordship root out this mage."

Hawke smirked. "Ah... it all makes sense now. Surely, the Chantry would frown upon two templars taking bribes." She tapped her finger lightly against her lips. "Then again, Lord Burgamond is known to be rather generous with his donations to the Chantry. I guess he's earned your... _suppor_t."

"I do not like what you are insinuating, Champion."

"I don't care."

Hawke used a wave of force magic to throw both templars to the ground. The blow rendered them unconscious. _For people trained to deal with mages they do an appalling job, _she thought_._ She was tempted to place them in a compromising position, but she decided to spare them their dignity and entered Burgamond's mansion.

The foyer was something of a marvel. The walls were made of flawless white marble with sheen so lustrous, Hawke could see her wobbly reflection in the stone. Above, a chandelier hung from the center of a towering ceiling. The light from the tapers caught in the crystal and created a myriad of colors on the floor. It annoyed Hawke that she was impressed by the grandeur.

A maidservant walked into the room carrying a neat pile of linens. She dropped the bundle and gasped when she noticed Hawke.

"Where is he?" Hawke growled. "Tell me, or you will meet the same fate as the two templars outside." The maid wasn't sure what that implied, if it meant death or something worse.

"He is upstairs, third door on the left, in the library." The woman edged away. "Please, don't hurt me, my lady."

The thought of slamming a small Elven woman to the floor held no entertainment value for Hawke. Besides she was rather fond of elves.

Two grand staircases flanked the foyer and wound their way up to the second floor. When she reached the final step, Hawke heard the front door slam; the maidservant had fled.

_That is for the best. Maybe she will consider her employer more carefully next time. _

Hawke stood on the landing, still grasping the handle of the knife embedded in the wolf pelt's head. A smidgen of her anger had started to dissipate, and staring down at her finery, she began to wonder if the decision to confront his lordship without first donning armor had been a bit rash. The answer to that was: what do I have to lose? She was certain Fenris would leave the moment she told him the truth. He would return to his reclusive ways, maybe leave Kirkwall and run from yet another hurtful past. In her fit of grief, Hawke was convinced that dying to protect him was her penance.

She kicked the library door open and there before her sat Burgamond. If he had been expecting retaliation it did now show. The sadist was dressed in his evening finery; a complement to Hawke's attire and together they looked like a couple who had retired for the day.

For a year this man had asked for her hand in marriage, intent on swaying Hawke to leave Fenris by any means necessary. Four mercenaries and two assassins later, and the elf was still standing.

Altan Doyle-Burgamond was the son of an Antivan lord and his mother had been an esteemed lady in the circles of Kirkwall high society. Under normal circumstance, and if he were sane, Hawke would have found him extremely attractive. He had eyes the color of highly polished sapphire, set against a light brown skin tone, similar to Fenris's. A chiseled jaw gave him an air of elegance and his high cheekbones reeked of noble birth. His manly body and suave smile caught the eye of every woman in Kirkwall. Altan was highly educated, a banker and merchant known for his charismatic charm and sharp wit. But behind the social mask, there resided a ruthless business man that was accustomed to getting his way. If he didn't own it, he could buy it, and if he couldn't buy it, he would take it. Hawke, however, could not be bought, and her heart belonged to Fenris, fair and square.

Altan's lips curled into a pleased smile. He ran an appreciative eye over Hawke's body. "Ah, Champion I've been expecting you." One would with think they were friends with the way he gestured for her to enter. "Do take a seat."

Hawke stormed over to his desk and slapped the dead wolf carcass on top. Blood flew into his face "I'm tired of your sick games, Burgamond. Where do you get the gall to threaten Fenris?"

"You believe I have threatened your friend?" He placed his hand over his heart. "My lady I am truly at a loss. I..." An expression of surprise marred his fair features. It changed to concern while he studied the dead wolf. "Did someone send this horrible thing to you? Have you come to me for assistance?" He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. "I would not hesitate to help you, Marian."

Hawke's eyes widened. "Marian?" she answered with a sardonic chuckle. "Since when are we on a first name basis?"

"Well," he gestured towards her clothing, "I thought maybe the nature of our relationship had changed since you have come here dressed in nothing more than a thin robe. Am I wrong?" A devilish smile broke out across his face. "Of course I am. I forget so often that you are in love with that..." his eyes narrowed and Hawke felt as if she were staring into the face of evil, "wolf of yours."

Hawke leaned over the bloodied carcass to meet his eyes "I didn't come here to discuss Fenris," her voice lowered. "I came here to kill you."

Altan crossed his legs in a nonchalant manner and waved the comment away. "Now Marian, do not be rash. Besides, I don't believe you," he spoke to her as one would a small child. His eyebrows knitted together with concern. "What would happen to your little wolf if you were carted off to the gallows and made tranquil?"

"That is not going to happen."

"Would he look up at the sky, pine for your lost love or maybe just howl at the moon?" He shrugged and seemed pleased with his attempt at mocked humor. "I don't know and I do not care," he hesitated. "So, you really came to kill me? Well then, my lady, have at it. Magic me to your heart's content. I might like it you know?"

Hawke gathered a fireball into her hand. "Are you arrogant enough to believe that the favoritism the templars show you will stop me? I will gladly rot in the gallows to keep Fenris from harm."

Before Hawke could throw the flame at Altan's smug face, an arrow whistled across the room. The arrowhead tore through the muscle of her right shoulder rendering it useless. Altan Bugamond smiled into the champion's pain stricken face. The fireball wavered in her hand, but she managed to rekindle the flame.

Hawke shouted several curses. Without the full use of her arms she could not cast magic. This was her own undoing. Anger and loss had made her rash and clouded her judgment. During the training with her father the one thing he tried to impress upon her was to never bow to base emotions, never let anger control your actions. She remembered his words: _He who angers you conquers you._

A second arrow ripped through her left shoulder and Marian fell to her knees. Altan Burgamond rose from his desk. He waved for the archer to lower his bow. "That is enough for now, Avino. I need her alive."

Hawke shut the sound of Burgamond's voice out of her mind. She drew deeply from the Fade, centering the energy in the palm of her hand then released. The flame did not materialize. There was nothing.

"That must be rather frustrating for you, Marian," said Burgamond. "No magic. Nothing?" He knelt at eye level. "No, it is not the templars doing this thing to you. It is me." He gestured towards the archer. "And the Antivan Crow. But I do not wish to give him too much credit."

Marian spat into his face. A mixture of blood and saliva slid down his nose. "Save your whimsical musings for an idiot willing to listen."

Altan punched Marian in the mouth. The skin opened and blood began to stream from the wound. "You're such a proud bitch for a Ferelden peasant." He snapped her chin upwards so their eyes would meet. "But shortly, you will be nothing more than a bag of bones."

"Rip the arrows out," commanded Burgamond. "I need her blood."

The Antivan archer placed his foot in the center of Marian's back. He clasped the shaft with two hands and a wet meaty sound filled the room as he wrenched it from her shoulder. Hawke's face distorted and she cried out a harrowing scream. A thick stream of blood raced down her back, over her legs, and pooled at her knees.

_Maker forgive me for my sins. __I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade_

Another bout of immense pain jolted Hawke's body as he removed the second arrow. The archer kicked her forward and she fell helpless upon the ground.

The room had begun to fade into a shadowy reality. Marian could feel the life slipping from her body.

_For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light_

"Here, take this," Burgamond handed an amulet to the archer. The Antivan assassin placed the amulet in the stream of Marian's blood and held it firmly in place. A white light erupted from its core.

Lord Burgamond snatched the amulet away and quickly placed it around his neck. The white light engulfed his body, even Marian who was on the verge of unconsciousness had to close her eyes. When it faded she managed to look into Burgamond's self-satisfied face.

"Now, you my dear will unfortunately die, but before you join the rest of your flea bitten family, I want you to know that I am going to skin your precious wolf alive." He grabbed a handful of her hair and twisted her head to the side. "Do you feel it, Marian?" he whispered, "your magic is gone."

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost_

Marian closed her eyes and the shadows gathered her up and took her beyond the waking world.


	19. Chapter 19: Never Underestimate A Dwarf

Thanks to everyone for reading and all that good stuff. It means so much to me. I've had a rather dramatic two weeks and the story has been a great distraction. Special thanks for the much needed caffeine. (you know who you are!) Hope this chapter makes sense.

**Chapter19**

Fenris awoke with a start. There was an inexplicable urge to panic. He waited, quiet, expectant, his eyes scanning every inch of his surroundings, looking for a reason to justify donning his armor.

_It is nothing, you fool_, thought Fenris. _All the same, I should dress._ A hunger pain rattled his stomach. _How long must I have slept to be this hungry?_ He noticed the empty sachet on Hawke's night table and he remembered. _Plagued by nightmares again. I have undoubtedly slept through the day. _

"Enchanment!"

Sandal's voice burst forth through the silence and echoed with a mixture of charged enthusiasm and terror.

"Boom!"

And the walls shook.

There was an explosion in the foyer. What followed was the sound of armored bodies falling to the ground. Fenris leapt from the bed and bolted the door. Survival instincts, inbuilt from years of battle demanded, he don his armor before attempting to fight off the intruders. Besides, as he recalled, Sandal had once frozen an Ogre solid in mid run and defeated at least five Darkspawn without the aid of a single weapon.

Fenris had yet to hear Hawke's battle cry. It was unthinkable... the Champion of Kirkwall's mansion being raided? A million thoughts raced through his mind. Could it be templars or more possessed Carta or... the woman simply had too enemies.

The bolt slid from the door. He needed to assess the situation, count the enemies, determine if mages were present, memorize where each man was positioned and do it all in one quick peek.

Another explosion resounded. Fenris used the distraction to his advantages and opened the door a sliver, enough to get an adequate view. It was chaos. Sandal had frozen, burned, mutilated and electrocuted a company of at least fifteen men. It was a strange reaction considering the circumstances, but Fenris grinned. _Never underestimate a dwarf._

The grin faded into oblivion. Behind Sandal, in a pitiful bloodied mass, lay the last tangible piece of his enslaved past. Orana had been butchered from head to toe. This was a rare occasion that required Fenris to still his grief to remain focused. Usually, it was the sight of Marian being severely injured that moved him to emotion.

_Maker guide you, Orana and give you peace_, thought Fenris_. _

Then Fenris saw him, the reason why they were now fighting for their lives: Altan Burgamond. The noble stood alone in the middle of the entrance hall; his men dead at his feet. The bedroom door flew open and Fenris stepped out to face his assailant.

"Burgamond! You wish to fight? Then fight me!" Fenris closed his gauntleted fists into tight balls. The blood ran quick and hot through his veins and the lyrium flared to life. "Or are you only capable of killing the helpless and unarmed?"

Altan Burgamond spun around on his heel. An elegant blood soaked finger pointed to Sandal. "I would hardly call that dwarf unarmed." A dead body rolled away from his feet. "Look what he has done to my men. Crows do not come cheap."

Fenris unsheathed his broadsword. The metal rang true and bright as he brought it into his hands. "Have you gone mad? Hawke will have your head for this if I do not first."

"I sincerely doubt that, my friend." Burgamond's eyes narrowed and he grinned. "Have you not considered the whereabouts of your lovely lady? Did she find a new toy, little wolf?"

Fenris's brow furrowed. His thoughts grew dark and his face pensive. "You are pathetic." The hilt of his sword jostled between his hands. He readied to an attack stance. "I know Hawke is safe," he scoffed. "You would already be dead if you had engaged her in combat."

"I do not underestimate you, elf," Altan said to Fenris in a way that would suggest they were friends. "After I learned of your master and how he created those markings on your skin, I was surprised that you had lived to see the light of another day." The arrogant lord beamed a wicked smile. "And may I just say that they are quite fetching."

"You know nothing of me," Fenris said with a touch of impatience. He believed Altan was trying to employ a delay tactic. There would be no chance for him to escape. "I am done playing games."

Altan laughed. "You are not very bright are you? I learned of your sister, of your master, of the book and the staff, and yet, you say I know nothing of you?" He gave the elf a chance to retort, but when he did not, Altan paused. "So, tell me... did you kill her, your sister that is, or did you decide that someone of her shining caliber had suddenly reformed her ways?" Burgamond noted that the elf was perplexed by his words, though he sought to hide it underneath his mop of hair. "Did you allow Varania to return to the Imperium?"

The conversation was grating. Fenris believed it was a deliberate ploy to throw him off guard. The man had obviously paid handsomely to learn of his past. But to what end? There were pieces missing, probably nothing more than the workings of an insane mind.

"You have gone quiet, little wolf," Altan mused. "Have I hit a nerve?" He plucked a highly ornate staff from the ground. "No matter. I promised Marian that I would skin you alive and so I will. You may beg for a quick end if you like."

Fenris examined the staff and raised a quizzical brow. "You expect me to believe you are an apostate?"

"You are truly all brawn and no brain." Altan said and he began to exaggerate his mannerisms. "Meredith would never allow such a thing in her precious Kirkwall." The amulet that had been used to capture Marian's magic came into view. "Do you know what this is, elf?"

"A piece of gaudy jewelry?"

He waggled his finger at Fenris. "You are secretly funny. I see this now." The amulet shimmered oddly in the candlelight. In its depths tiny pinpricks glowed like stars on a cloudless night. "This is Marian's magic, or rather, was her magic." His eyes rolled lightly into the back of head and he smiled. "I think it is fitting that you will be killed by your dead lover's own power. Don't you?"

A bolt of electricity shot from the staff and hit Fenris in the shoulder. Pain soared through his body and continued to do so until the very last of it fizzled_. This has to be the work of a demon._

Fenris, in one graceful movement, jumped to his feet. The attack had taken him by surprise, but it would not happen again. There were ways to deal with a mage and this one, whether self made or not, would be no exception.

Altan aimed his staff at Sandal. "You may be a touched dwarf but I see no need to show you pity."

A sudden burst of energy slammed into Altan. The nobleman's body slid across the polished stone floor, through the blood of Orana and was thrust against the wall. Fenris had jumped from the landing, and with the energy from his markings, he had hit Burgamond with a lyrium pulse.

"Sandal, run to the big shiny!" Fenris pointed to the door. He realized Sandal was no longer able to defend against attack. "Bodahn will come for you!"

Sandal beamed an excited smile and clapped his hands. "I like the shiny!"

The big shiny was the golden statue of Andraste in the Chantry. Aveline and Donnic had invited Sandal and Bodahn to their wedding. Until that day, neither Bodahn nor Sandal had stepped foot into the Chantry. However, when Sandal entered the building and noticed the statue, he ran down the aisle and up the stairs to admire it. After the service, Bodahn struggled to get his adopted son to return to the mansion. It was the only time Fenris could remember the old dwarf losing his temper. In the end, Orana had to lure Sandal away with a cinnamon bun.

He would be safe within the Chantry, and his presence would alert Sebastian to trouble.

"Are you going to fight me then, elf?" Altan grasped his staff with both hands. "Or are you going to runaway with the dwarf?"

"I do not know what manner of foul demon has taken you, but I do not fear it," said Fenris. After years of fighting abominations, demons, spirits and magisters, Burgamond posed no threat to the elf's confidence.

Altan raised his hands to the heavens and drew from the power of the amulet. Fireballs rained down on Fenris. The elf sped through the fiery blasts unharmed. Once out of range, he stopped and readied for a counter-attack. A wave of force magic threw Fenris to the ground twice. Blood seeped from his nose and two ribs ached from the abuse. Whatever power Burgamond had at his command it was more than he could face alone.

Burgamond conjured another blazing inferno. The smoke from the fire offered Fenris a curtain of temporary camouflage. He activated his lyrium and faded his body into a wraithlike state. As the maelstrom subsided, Altan searched the floor for an elf's roasted corpse, but there was nothing. Finally, and for a fleeting moment, he spotted Fenris at the top of the landing.

"I thought you wanted to fight?" said Burgamond. "You are a warrior are you not?"

Fenris adjusted his sword so that the pommel was jutting forwards. "An experienced warrior will withdraw when the odds are not in his favor."

"You will have to face me to get to the door, elf," Burgamond said and pointed his staff at Fenris's head.

"Not so," Fenris simply stated. He filled his lungs to their fullest and ran pommel first through the landing window.

The broadsword shattered the glass into a multitude of shards. A man on the street below looked to the source of the sound. It was in time to see Fenris land on the balcony feet first. Several harsh words in a foreign tongue echoed afterwards.

"Hey! What are you doing up there!" the man yelled. "That's the champion's home!"

Fenris sheathed his sword. He climbed onto the balcony railing and jumped to the roof. Quickly, he traced a path from his position across the rooftops of Hightown. Burgamond could wield magic, but he doubted the noble could match his speed and agility.

Once he was some distance from the Hawke mansion, Fenris paused. The streets were empty; there was no sign of Burgamond.

"This is insanity," said Fenris. He took a seat near a chimney and began to examine his feet. They had been shredded by the broken glass. A particularly long shard had to be removed. "Venhedis, malum, fasta vass!" Three curses later and Fenris was able to continue his journey.

_Where is Marian?_ He rubbed his forehead. _Anders... she had agreed to meet with him after he whined she no longer cared. _He sighed. _Is it not enough that I have already faced one insane mage this evening, now I must seek out the abomination? _With the reluctance of a stubborn jackass, Fenris limped towards Darktown. If he had taken a moment to look down he would have seen Bodahn hiding in the shadows below.

5


	20. Chapter 20: An Unlikely Hero

Thank you everyone for continuing to read and review! It always means the world to me. If I do not reply to a review/message or I reply twice, it's because I can't always tell on who I have replied to. I think my account is a bit buggy. So, please forgive me if you don't get a thank you. Sorry about the untimely death in the last chapter. I really do love that character. I was feeling mean! By the way, I took a guess with Bodahn in this chapter. I'm not familiar with DAO, so I used what info I could find on the Internet. Sorry if I got something wrong!

**Chapter 20:** **An Unlikely Hero**

Bodahn had been hiding in the shadows. He had heard Marian's scream and seen the white light blaze from the upstairs windows. Evening had fallen upon the city of Kirkwall since then, and still she had not emerged from Lord Burgamond's mansion.

_By the ancestors, what do I do?_ Bodahn wrung his hands together one over the other while he fretted. This wasn't the first time he had been in a bind. Sandal, his adopted son, made certain their lives were kept interesting. But, this was different; he was alone and every decision made could cost Lady Hawke her life. _You have five minutes, my lady, to come out of that house. _The dwarf asserted his decision with a nod of his head. _After that, I'm going to go pester that elf of yours. And we both know all too well what he's like when he first wakes up._

A pair of shuffling feet caught Bodahn's attention. Two men had walked out of the servant's entrance and into the street. The dwarf strained to see their faces, but the shadows cast by the high mansion walls cloaked them into darkness.

Bodahn convinced his legs to move, and edged closer to the mansion. _What I wouldn't give for those elf's ears._ He found a good hiding place behind a stone statue of a water nymph. _Why do humans always have these fancy statues of naked women? Seems like a waste of stone to me. You'd never see a dwarf carve something like that. No, I think I prefer a good old fashioned dwarf with a beard and a mallet. It's sturdy and it doesn't make me feel like I need to cover it up before it gets a chill._

From his hiding spot, the haggard dwarf could see a pile of crates and a wagon. The two men were investigating the cargo and sizing it up.

"Leave a gap in the middle." A deep voice cut through the darkness. "We place the main crate there and pile the others around it."

The other man considered his words. "These crates are heavier than they look," he insisted. "Are you sure we can lift that big crate by ourselves?"

"Yeah," the deep voice reassured "She's not that heavy."

_It can't be. Surely, her ladyship is not in that crate. And if she is_... There was nothing for it. The old dwarf straightened his back and waited for the men to finish loading the wagon. There were times when Bodahn wondered how he ended up in theses messes. He wanted to attribute his current problem to the unruly company he kept. Yet, if he were honest with himself, these things happened because he enjoyed the thrill of adventure, or in this case, misadventure.

"Are we going to risk taking this down the alleyways?" said a man. "The guards keep a heavy patrol in that area."

The deep voiced man shrugged and gestured to the sky. Bodahn decided that this man was giving the orders. "It's dark and the market just closed. We'll blend in fine with the merchants hauling their loads home."

The deep voiced man led the oxen away. His subordinate took up a position at the rear of the wagon. Bodahn's eyes were drawn to the middle crate as it passed; the one that he hoped did not hold the body of Marian Hawke.

_That crate is hardly big enough for an elf_, thought Bodahn. _Her ladyship couldn't fit in there._ The realization lightened his mood for a brief moment. _Unless..._ _surely not._

Bodahn debated whether he should seek help or shout for the city guard. At this distance, the men would have him before the guard could come to his aid, and without knowing the destination of the wagon, it would be difficult to find it again. No. He would have to follow it.

The service road to the Hightown Market was littered with numerous merchants and their wares. It was a living maze. But Bodahn navigated through it with ease. During his life underground, the dwarf had become accustomed to navigating his way through a labyrinth of passages. Following the wagon seemed simple in comparison.

The wagon continued to trundle down the streets of Hightown at an excruciatingly slow pace. After they passed the gate that led to Lowtown, the lines of people thinned to a mere trickle. Bodahn had to seek the shadows or cower in a corner to keep from being seen.

They finally halted outside a warehouse on the docks. One of the men stepped forward. He rapped three consecutive knocks on an old wooden door.

Bodahn shifted his weight while he waited. His foot hit an empty wine bottle and it toppled over. The two men were alerted to his presence.

"Who's there?" said the deep voiced man.

The dwarf could not find the strength to reply. Sweat trickled down from his brow and into his eyes. It stung but he did not dare wipe it away.

"Do you really think someone is there?" whispered the other man. "Should we check?"

The situation grew tense as the two men approached his position. Bodahn's mind raced, terrorized by thoughts of an untimely and most likely painful death. They were an arm's length away before he decided to stick the empty bottle to his mouth.

"Hey there dwarf," said the deep voiced man. "What are you doing?"

Bodahn's eyes were half closed and lolling about. "I was just about to sit down and rest for a moment, messere."

The warehouse door opened and refocused the men's attention. A man stepped into the torchlight. "Get over here," he said. "Give me a hand with these crates."

The deep voiced man waved towards Bodahn. "Leave the drunk. We need to get this done."

They walked away without further confrontation. Bodahn closed his eyes. It took every effort on his part not to run. He watched the men offload each crate one by one until the wagon was finally empty.

After something that resembled a heated debate, the deep voiced man and his subordinate headed in the direction of Lowtown. One man remained. Bodahn decided he would have to confront the lone man even if it meant death.

_Great ancestors give me strength, _thought the dwarf. _Help me now. _

The moon was high in the evening sky. It cast a silvery light over the ocean and illuminated the docks. Bodahn was thankful for that small miracle; the first positive happening of the night. When he reached the door to the warehouse he jostled the handle. As expected it was locked. Varric had the skill to pick it, as did any adept rogue, but Bodahn had never delved into the life of a thief.

A small hand squeezed his shoulder. "Bodahn is that… you?"

Bodahn knew that voice. Under normal circumstances he would be happy to see the dwarf standing behind him. He turned to face him. "Anso? What are you doing here?"

"I was just seeing to some business." His eyes drifted towards a docked merchant ship. "It wasn't the best of jobs mind you, but it paid well."

Anso was a thick bearded dwarf who had come to Kirkwall seven years ago to be part of the Deep Road's expedition, the same expedition that had made Hawke a wealthy woman. He had once been paid by Fenris to hire a group of mercenaries. Those mercenaries turned out to be Hawke and her friends. Since then, Bodahn had seen Anso, on occasion, walking through Hightown and at the Dwarven Merchant's guild.

"Come over here," whispered Bodahn, and he led Anso a safe distance away from the warehouse. "I need your help. There's not much time to explain, but I think the champion has been packed into a crate." Tears began to well in his eyes. "I don't think there's much hope that she is alive, but we have to see."

Anso rubbed the back of his neck. Bravery, he felt, was for taller people. "Shouldn't we go get someone… like a city guard?"

Bodahn kneaded his eyes. Fatigue had started to set in. "We don't have time for that.

"I don't understand." There was audible distress in Anso's voice. "You think the Champion is in there? In a crate?"

The old dwarf shook his head and looked to the ground. "You have to believe me. That Lord Burgamond has done something horrible to the lady. I told her not go to his mansion alone but she wouldn't listen."

Anso tugged on his beard braids. He had a far away look on his face. "She is known for her stubbornness or so I've heard. But…" he shrugged, "we're just two dwarves against... how many did you say were in the warehouse?"

"As far as I know there is one man in there," said Bodahn. "If we work together I think we can handle him."

"Is he armed?" Anso asked. "Did he look dangerous?"

Bodahn sighed. "I didn't get a good look at him, but I'd say he's probably armed." He waved his hands to dismiss further unnecessary questions. "Look, I'm going in there with or without you. Now if it's money that you want, I will pay handsomely after this is over."

"You mean if you survive." Anso considered the situation. There were two of them but the odds weren't in their favor. An armed human against two unarmed dwarves was a lamb to the slaughter. "Do you even have a dagger, Bodahn?"

"I have one explosive flask and a glass bottle." Bodahn's deadly arsenal sounded paltry even to him. "But I have a plan."

"This sounds a bit hopeless to me, and I'm naturally optimistic."

"Alright here's what we'll do," Bodahn pointed to the warehouse door. "We pick the lock and then charge in. I'll throw the flask and stun him and you can hit him over the head with the bottle. What do you think?"

It was apparent by his expression that Anso wasn't keen on the idea. "Why do I have to hit him on the head?"

"Because I've got the flask of course."

"I'll throw the flask and you hit him on the head. Then it's a deal."

Bodahn ran his hand over his face. He would have rejected Anso's offer of help if there had been an alternative. "Have you ever thrown a Miasmic flask?"

"No, but how hard can it be?"

Bodahn sighed. "Just make sure you throw it close to him otherwise we'll end up stunned." He removed the flask from his belt. "You better get this right Anso or we will be the next ones to get stuffed into those crates."

"I feel armed but not very dangerous," said Anso while he examined the small flask in his hand. "I like the champion, she thanked me for introducing her to that elf, but I don't know that I'm ready to see the Ancestors for her."

"She saved my boy Sandal and now I'm going to try and save her," Bodahn patted Anso on the back. "I'll understand if you want to back out."

_I can't believe I am going to risk my life for a human, _thought Anso_. _ "No, it wouldn't be right to leave you like this, Bodahn. But you owe me ten sovereigns if we survive."

Bodahn chuckled. "Fair enough, my friend. I'll buy you a pint too." The warehouse door loomed in the distance. "We have to get that door open. Do you have a set of lock picks?"

A leather case full of picks was revealed. "Was there ever any doubt." Anso gestured for Bodahn to take the case. "Here, have it."

"What? I can't pick locks, well not very well, and most definitely not that one." He pushed the case back to Anso. "You'll have to do it."

"I've never picked a lock a day in my life. I just carry them in case someone needs them on a job."

There were times when Bodahn believed he was being punished for leaving Orzammar, the underground dwarven kingdom. This was one of those times. "By the Ancestors what are we going to do?"

"We could knock," suggested Anso.

Bodahn wiped a smile from his face. "I suppose we could." He walked up to the door and rapped on it three times like he had seen the man do earlier. The two dwarves backed away. "Make sure you get it near his feet."

Anso nodded. "I will. Don't worry."

The lone man peaked out of the door. "Why are you two back?" When no one answered he stepped outside. Glass broke near his foot. "What the...". Then there was a thud.

"Good job, Anso," said Bodahn. "Let's drag him into the warehouse before he wakes up."

Bodahn grabbed his arms and Anso grabbed his legs. Together they managed to carry the man to the far side of the warehouse. "Look there," said Bodahn. "Go get me that rope."

The younger dwarf did not hesitate. Before he could return, the man mumbled and then woke up. Bodahn looked down to find Human and dwarf were staring at each other.

"A dwarf?"

"A dwarf," Bodahn confirmed and hit him on the head with the glass bottle. It shattered across the man's skull. Blood raced from the cuts, down his face and onto his shirt. The impact however was not enough to incapacitate him.

"Use this." Anso threw a crowbar on the ground near Bodahn's feet. "That should silence him."

"I'll try not to kill him." With one sharp blow, Bodahn rendered the man unconscious. From where he was standing the thug would either wake up with a headache or not at all.

Bodahn ran over to the wagon. He swung a leg up onto the side and used the middle crate to pull his body up. Both dwarves had to use their combined strength to pry the lid off of the crate.

"What's that smell?" Anso asked. He started to breath through his mouth. "It's overpowering. Close the lid."

Bodahn chimed in. "It is cloves. The merchants use it to keep meat from rotting." His face crinkled in disapproval of the smell. "Lord Burgamond must be the supplier."

"So..." Anso's voice was full of anticipation and dread. "Is she in there?"

The color had drained from Bodahn's face. "Yes..." he had trouble forming his words. "The champion is in here."

"Is she alive?" Anso stood on his toes to try and see into the crate. "We have to get her out."

"Give me hand, Anso." The two dwarves pushed the crate gently onto its side. They gasped at the sight of the contents. Marian's body had been brutally twisted and broken to make it fit into the small space. Her arms, wrists and ankles protruded at odd angles. The woman resembled nothing of her former self. She reminded Bodahn of a slaughtered animal, limp and bloodied after the kill.

"Make room," said Bodahn. He placed his foot on the edge of the crate for leverage. Two strong arms wrapped around Marian's waist, and after several forceful tugs, her body was freed. Bodahn cradled her in his arms. With immense care he laid her upon the wagon. "She is breathing but it is faint."

Tears fell from the Anso's eyes. "Thank the Ancestors." The wounds on her body made him shiver. He had seen his fair share of death and mutilation, but he had never seen someone treated in this manner. "We need to get her some help," he sniffled. "Where should we take her, Bodahn? Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

Emergencies were common in Bodahn's line of work. The Deep Roads and his time with the warden had provided him with ample knowledge of wounds and their severity. Marian, in his opinion, was on the brink of death.

"Right," said Bodahn with conviction. "Let's get her to Gamlen's house." They maneuvered her carefully off of the wagon and onto the floor. "After we get to Gamlen's I want you to go to Varric as fast as you can and tell him what has happened, Anso. But, keep it quiet." He waited for Anso's acknowledgment. It was important that there was no misunderstanding between them. "I will go back to the estate and get that elf. I'd go after the warden healer, but I'm no match for the thugs in Darktown."

Bodahn stared at Marian's torn body. He bowed his head and the tears flowed in a swift stream from his small eyes.

"She will be alright won't she, Bodahn? I mean..." the dwarf muttered. "she's been through worse."

"I don't know, Anso," Bodahn paused. "Her friend, Sebastian would say it is in the Maker's hands now." The dwarf had to look away, to the sky where the face of his friend was not splattered in blood. "May that human god show her mercy now."


	21. Chapter 21: A Mage's Touch

FF net has been doing some crazy stuff to my story. Hopefully it is fixed now. I do apologize. Fenris did it.

Special thanks to Letticiae for answering my annoying DAO questions and for being an awesome person. :D

Recap: Since it's been awhile between updates I thought this might be useful.

Previously, on Lyrium Ghost (I couldn't resist) Cue exciting music. Burgamond openly attacked Hawke estate. Fenris was forced to flee and went in search of Hawke. Bodahn rescued Hawke from the warehouse with Anso's help and they have taken her to Gamlen's house. I think that covers it.

Thanks everyone!

**Chapter 21: A Mage's Touch**

"And this is why people wear shoes." Anders handed Fenris a pair of tweezers. The elf examined them with a studious eye. It was as if he were convinced they held some foul magic that would turn his feet to stone. "They are simply tweezers, Fenris."

"One can never be too cautious when it comes to a mage," Fenris stated. For six years Anders and Fenris had been at each other's throats. Magic was at the center of their disagreement, the catalyst that fueled their mistrust. Through the years, Hawke had shown Fenris that not every mage was irresponsible with their gifts. Being attractive and the key to the elf's heart had also helped her cause. "Marian, of course, is the exception."

Anders threw his hands in the air. He traipsed around in a circle like a harried chicken. "Do you really believe that she is incapable of being possessed by a demon? She is just as susceptible as the rest of us."

"You did not listen to my words, mage. I said nothing of demonic possession." Fenris pulled two large shards of glass from his foot without the slightest indication that it hurt. "Marian, I trust, you, I abhor."

"You do understand that she could cave to temptation?" It was Anders hope that maybe somehow Fenris had overlooked this fact or that he was in denial. If he could instill a morsel of fear, he believed it had the potential to grow and send the elf running away from Marian once again. Anders doubted she would end up in his arms, but annoying Fenris had its own entertainment value.

Another piece of small glass was added to the bloody pile on the floor. "Of course she could cave to temptation," he stated without hesitation. Fenris locked eyes with the mage. "Marian has agreed that I should kill her if such a thing were to happen."

"I..." The power of speech eluded Anders. "You would... kill her?" He snarled. "You're a monster. Do you know that?"

"So you tell me, and often." One foot was now clear of glass. "I did not come here to sate your curiosity as you well know. I need to find Marian quickly." _Where is she? If I find her at the Hanged Man playing cards I will... _But, Fenris refused to show his growing anxiety in front of Anders.

"You told me that Burgamond said he had killed her. Why aren't you... I don't know... worried or out mutilating something?" said Anders, and his eyes drifted to the ceiling. _How can one man be so infuriating? What in Maker's name does that woman see in him? He looks like a scruffy, underfed dog. _

Fenris observed the mage, who was verging on the hysterical, with bored disinterest. "I am concerned, as always, for Marian's safety. But I..." Fenris was angry with his feet. "I am no use to her until this glass is removed. Would you..."

"What?"

The elf sighed. He would give Marian hell for this later. "Would you heal this quickly?"

Not once in their long and unpleasant association had Fenris asked Anders directly for his aid. Elfroot was his mainstay unless Marian insisted that he be healed by a mage's touch, and even then he was reluctant. How he stomached drinking the extract of that particularly fleshy tuber in abundance, Anders could not fathom. It tasted like freshly dug dirt.

"No," Anders answered in a flat tone.

Fenris's ear twitched. "What?" he roared. "You do this to spite me when Marian may be in danger or possibly," he hesitated to admit it, "seriously injured. I should cleave that ridiculous ponytail from your head and shove it down your throat with my fist."

"You only need to say the _magic_ word and I will heal you."

The silence grew thick. Fenris dropped his gaze to the floor which gave Anders the impression that the elf might actually utter the word please. In one fell movement, Fenris had him by the throat. Anders sensitive skin blanched against the pressure of the prickly gauntlet.

"Give me what elfroot you possess and I will let you live," Fenris demanded between clenched teeth. "If you dare to strike me down I will run you through." He let his grip relax; visible marks remained. "Were those words _magical_ enough for you?"

Anders shoved Fenris away. The incident had shaken him, though he would never admit it. Denial was his strongpoint.

"Anders!" a voice called from the clinic entrance. Varric struggled to catch his breath between words. "Thank... the Maker... I found you."

"What's wrong Varric?"

"Elf, you're alive!" said Varric. The relief in his voice put Fenris on edge. "I thought for sure... after seeing the estate and..." Varric doubled over panting while holding his stomach. "Well that can wait."

Fenris ignored the pain in his feet and stepped forward. "You came here for Anders. Why? What has happened? Is it Marian?"

Varric managed a nod. "It's not good, elf."

Their eyes met. Fear and panic rose above Fenris's emotional barriers. Until this moment, Varric had never seen true terror in the elf's face. The sight of Hawke's trampled body would surely bring him to tears.

Fenris used the chair to steady his stance. "Where is she?" His eyes were wild with fear. "I have to see her now!"

"She's at Gamlen's house. We don't have much time," Varric said. "Bodahn thinks she's not going to make it."

Anders used his healing power on Fenris's feet without asking permission. The leftover glass was ripped away from the flesh and the wounds healed. The two adversaries shared a brief glance. There was an unstated agreement to work together and put aside their grievances when a friend was hurt. Marian's welfare was now their shared concern.

"You two run ahead. I will catch up," said Varric. When they were out of earshot he mumbled, "Those two bastards will never grow up."

Fenris and Anders raced through Darktown together. After rounding the first corner, the mage realized he could not keep up with the elf. A blur of blue in the distance was the only trace of him that remained.

"Hurry Anders!" Fenris yelled. "The way is clear."

_That's what he was doing? He was scouting ahead?_ Anders was shocked by the thoughtful gesture. _Wait... he's concerned about Hawke not me._

"Not all of us have lyrium powered legs you lanky bastard!" Varric yelled. He was now running aside Anders. The mage could hardly believe his eyes. "What? Cat got your tongue?" The dwarf managed to edge in front of him for a brief moment.

The three men did not stop running until they were standing at the bottom of Gamlen's stairs. Anders allowed his body to recompose before entering the hovel. A small stubby arm prevented Fenris from following.

"Listen, elf... I mean, Fenris." Varric felt the situation was too serious for nicknames. "When you see Marian, try to stay calm. I know that word isn't in your vocabulary but the last thing the healers need is you giving them hell and throwing things."

"Healers?" Fenris was surprised that there would be another tending to Hawke. "There is someone else besides Anders?"

Varric bit his lip. Even he realized it was an inappropriate time to smirk. "I don't know how, and I suspect it's one hell of a story, but Isabela managed to get Sol out of the gallows."

"An anecdote is the furthest thing from my mind right now, Varric." Fenris removed his metal gauntlets. Varric absorbed the entire scene, every emotion that fleeted across the elf's face and he found that he had to look away. "I would like to see her now."

The low timbre of Fenris's voice and the simple respect he showed humbled Varric. This was a man who was familiar with many varieties of pain and suffering. But regardless of his past experience, Varric believed nothing would compare to the grief Fenris was about to experience once he saw the condition of Marian's body.

The dwarf allowed his arm to fall to his side. He waited until Fenris was at the top of the stairs to speak. "I'm sorry about Marian. We all are."

There was no acknowledgement. Fenris pushed the splintered door to the hovel open. The scene inside was not what he had expected.

Merrill was ripping sheets into long strips and soaking them in boiling water. When she noticed Fenris she forced a thin-lipped smile.

She pointed to the backroom. "They are in there, but if you're going to see her you need to be quiet. Sol doesn't like to be bothered when he is working." Merrill stirred her pot of rags. "I..."

Fenris held up his hand. He could not endure more condolences. _Merrill's eyes are bloodshot and swollen and I can see more tears waiting to fall. _In the corner, Gamlen was sitting in a chair cradling his head in his hands; the stench of alcohol and sex perfumed his body. The scene was reminiscent of the day Leandra had died. Death and fear and the turmoil of ramshackle emotions weighed on each person. This felt like a wake to Fenris.

The door to the backroom was slightly ajar and he could see the two healers and a smidgen of Marian's body. "May I enter?"

"Yes," Sol said in a stressed voice. "But please keep your distance. I need the area to remain unobstructed."

A table had been lined with a multitude of potions; almost every color of the rainbow was present. There was an odd smell in the air that overpowered Fenris and made his eyes start to water.

Sol looked over his shoulder. "Close the door please. We need to keep her warm." A bloody rag made a splattering sound as it hit the floor. "Before you ask, yes she will live." The herbalist noticed Fenris had yet to take in the full view of the body. "You might want to cover your nose. She's been covered in cloves."

"Why?" Fenris was building his strength. Normally, a body whether whole or dead, did not bother him and he would have paid little heed to any wounds that had been inflicted. But this was different. This was his Marian lying naked and uncovered in a decrepit room on a bed of dirty rags. Gamlen never cleaned nor did he care if he laid in his own filth. "I do not understand."

Sol grabbed a potion from the table. "They were intended to preserve her body... for a time. Maybe we should discuss this when things are less tense."

Fenris stopped in front of the worn cot where she lay and his mind stumbled to a halt and his emotions boiled to the surface.

This woman could not be Marian. The strong pigheaded mage that he had met six years ago was nowhere to be found. This body was broken, deformed, and foreign to him and he refused to acknowledge it. It held little semblance to the one he loved.

Fenris searched the whitewashed body for any sign of vibrancy, for the flawless feminine beauty of his lover. He would prove it wasn't Marian. His mage was strong and unstoppable, a champion of the people and an enemy to those who abused power. He shook his head. This was not _his_ Marian. She did not have holes in her back, disjointed limbs, missing fingers and broken teeth.

"This is not..." The words hung in his throat. He had seen it lying on the table: the necklace Leandra had bequeathed long ago.

He could not fathom why his cheeks had started to burn until he noticed the tears falling through the opening in his hair. There were others present, the tears should be wiped away, hidden before seen; a lesson learned from his days as a slave. He held his hands in front of his face ready to remove any trace of what he considered weakness. But he could not. His eyes studied his palms and long slender fingers. They were useless… he was useless.

Sol, the herbalist and healer took notice of Fenris for the first time. He had seen the helpless look before on the faces of men who had failed to protect their family. Guilt and shame mixed together in a poisonous concoction that would eventually lead to anger. But this man, unlike the simple people who came to him, was volatile and capable of getting revenge.

"How could anyone..." Anders tried to steady his hands. They were shaking from a mixture of anger and grief. "That man must suffer for this." Justice came forth and Anders body began to change.

"Not now, Anders." Sol smacked his hands to get his attention. "Bring Justice out later when you go and kill the man that did this to our poor champion." The herbalist examined the wounds on Marian's back. "They have healed nicely."

Anders massaged the bridge of his nose. It had taken all of his effort to make Justice recede. "Did you check for arrowhead fragments? She will continue to bleed internally if they are still present."

"There was no need to check. The silk from her finery would have ensured a clean exit wound." Sol continued to admire his handiwork. "We should turn her over and begin fusing the broken bones."

Together, the two men carefully lifted the body and repositioned it. Her face was clearly visible. Sol, ever mindful of his patient's needs, grabbed the sheet and covered her exposed body. He would have no one say that she had been disrespected while in his care.

"Something is not right," said Anders. He studied her face. "It's as if..."

"You mean besides the obvious condition of her body?" Sol said.

Anders folded his arms over his chest. "This isn't the time for jokes, Sol." A brief pause followed while he tried to sense Marian's magic. "No, it's as if... wait," his eyes widened, "there's nothing."

"I noticed that too." Sol concentrated on his potions and left Anders to ponder the matter. Sol had no personal dislike for the apostate, but the merger with Justice was not something he condoned. "I suspect blood magic; a very ancient and powerful type that has been all but forgotten in Thedas."

Anders rolled his eyes. "You sound like the Knight Commander." The thought that someone could take magic away was bewildering for the mage. To live with it was a burden, but to have that power ripped from your being and not become tranquil was unthinkable. "Why didn't you tell me you knew her magic was gone?"

Sol wiped a spot of dried blood from her nose. "It did no t seem very relevant while I was saving her life, Anders."

"But, she is not tranquil," Anders said and he gestured to her forehead.

Fenris had been listening intently to the conversation. The confrontation with Burgamond was still fresh in his mind. "He took it from her."

"Who took her magic?" Sol was intrigued.

"Burgamond," Fenris growled. "He showed me an amulet and said it was Marian's magic."

Anders dismissed Fenris's words. "Impossible," said Anders. "You can't steal someone's magic. You have to be born a mage to wield it."

"Then explain how he was able to cast spells," Fenris refuted. "I know you believe you are the authority when it comes to mages, but you have not witnessed the power of a Tevinter magister. They have knowledge at their disposal that dates back to the days of Arlathan."

"He is an apostate then." Anders refused to believe that Fenris had a well rounded opinion of Tevinter. "Obviously, he has used his wealth and influence to keep the templars from taking him to the gallows."

"Can we come back to this later Anders?" said Sol. "Right now I need you to focus."

Fenris cleared his throat. "May I have a moment alone with Marian?"

"Yes," Sol said. The answer had taken Anders by surprise. There was still much work to be done to her body. "But it will have to be brief."

"Sol," Anders whined, "we need to finish."

"The immediate danger has past, Anders." Sol gestured to the door. "The man deserves five minutes with his loved one." He turned to Fenris. "You have that time and not a minute more, my friend."

Fenris nodded and then pulled a chair next to the bed. Sol took one last look at the elf and the woman lying on the bed. _The truth is, _thought Sol_, I saved her because I was too selfish to let her go. I pray she will forgive me._

7


	22. Chapter 22: Politics and Loyalty

How many alerts would you like with this chapter? I apologize to everyone. I have no idea why FF decided to send a million alerts for chapter 21. It wasn't even exciting and it didn't have any sex!

Thanks again to everyone reading, alerting, favoriting, cavorting ;) and especially to those who find time to review. Love ya all!

**Chapter 22**

Aveline had never wanted to be a coddled upper class Orlesian. The silly masks, frilly dresses, stinky cheeses, and puffed up nobles were arrant nonsense. But being captain of the guard was a job devoted to a public cause. It created scars and built character. She had made every effort to be a competent leader for her guardsmen, yet while she stared at the walls in the Hawke estate she considered a career change might be in order.

"I will kill you all?" Aveline considered. The threat, even if it was scrolled across the bedroom wall in Orana's blood lacked creativity. There were other enemies she had faced during her time as guard captain that had been less flamboyant and more suited to terror than this attempt. "Why so melodramatic?"

Donnic examined the empty sachet on Marian's night table. "He is an eccentric noble. What did you expect?"

"I don't know Donnic. I guess I wanted something to make sense in this mess." Aveline threw her hands in the air. If he had been any other citizen of Kirkwall, she would have gutted him by now, but Lord Burgamond was an exceptional man. The Chantry, Knight-Commander and most of the prominent citizens, excluding Marian Hawke, were slaves to his charm and money. Generational lies held him in good stead with the upper class of Thedas. He stood for everything Aveline hated, but, if she were to openly confront him without proper evidence she would be ruined.

"Has there been any word of Fenris?" Donnic said. The empty wineglass on the mantle had reminded him of his friend. "There's no body, so can we assume..."

"We can assume nothing," Aveline finished the sentence with terse conviction. A fight with Donnic would loosen the frustration, but it would not give her a sound reason to stomp over to Burgamond's mansion and kill the bastard. "This is getting us nowhere. We can search night and day through Hawke's effects, but without evidence we may as well bend over and take it from behind."

Donnic's eyebrows rose. He started to whisper. "Isabela is a bad influence on you, my dear wife. It would be best to let your tongue loose in private."

"Isabela _has_ become a bad influence, and it seems, that influence has now extended to you." Aveline straightened her headband. "I am being very unprofessional."

Donnic grasped her hand. "You are trying to cope, love," he whispered. "There is nothing more to be learned here."

"When did my life get so complicated?" Aveline rhetorically asked. "Damn it," she seethed. "Hawke has always been impetuous but this..."

"Marian," Donnic whispered. "I never believed she would fall in battle." He carefully chose his next words. "Was it a battle?"

"No," Aveline said. "Not according to Bodahn. That is a matter for another time. Orana's body should be committed to the Maker and we need to return to Gamlen's house."

"Agreed," said Donnic.

They entered the main entrance hall to find templars questioning the other guardsmen.

"Wonderful," Aveline whispered to her husband. "I bet Burgamond convinced Meredith to get involved. Maker knows she would be gratified if Hawke was dead."

"Why would he dare to involve himself when we know this was his crime?" Donnic muttered. "Doesn't that seem contradictory to you?"

"It's a ploy," said Aveline. "The more concerned he appears the less people will suspect that he was involved." Her chest heaved with a heavy sigh. "Honestly, I think everything is a game to that man."

"You should speak with the Knight-Captain before his attention is drawn to us," Donnic said. "Standing in the shadows, whispering will raise suspicion."

Aveline walked down the stairs and approached Ser Cullen. Every step was full of apparent disapproval. Since the death of the viscount, Meredith's hold over the city had grown. She ordered raids on homes without sufficient cause. Mages in the gallows were being accused of using blood magic and consorting with demons, including those who had never protested their lack of freedom. Nobles and common citizens were losing their freedom to the tyranny of one woman. Kirkwall was on the brink of rebellion. But until it boiled over, Aveline was determined to hold her command and continue her role as guard captain.

"This _does not _require templar involvement," Aveline declared. "It is a matter for the city guard_."_

Cullen rounded on the fiery redhead. "The Knight-Commander disagrees. The Champion's home has been attacked and most of her household is missing." He pointed to the body on the floor "And her maidservant has been brutally murdered."

"I could care less if Meredith disagrees," Aveline spat. "The order should mind its own damn business." She watched Donnic cover Orana's body with a crisp white sheet. "Until there is irrefutable proof that a mage was involved, this is a job for the city guard."

Cullen rubbed his forehead. "I would not mention this except that there may be a connection." He had decided to ignore the guard captain's rant. "Solivitus escaped from the gallows last night. As you know, he was friends with the champion. So you see, a mage could be involved."

Aveline noted that Cullen had neglected to mention how Sol had managed to escape. They would never be able to link the crime to Isabela, but one thing was for certain: Sol would be hunted. That was an alarming prospect since he was currently at Marian's side.

"Haven't you used his blood to track him down?" Aveline asked in a calm voice.

"It would seem," Cullen gave an uncomfortable cough, "that his phylactery has been tainted in some way. It is unfortunate but it does happen."

_More likely Sol drank something before they took his blood to render their methods useless, _thought Aveline. _I've always liked that crafty mage._

"I will make certain my guards are aware of his escape," Aveline said. A smirk tugged at her lips. "But I doubt Sol is the man who has committed this crime."

Cullen shook his head. "A mage is always susceptible to demonic possession. Until he is found we cannot rule out the possibility that he has taken the Champion." The Knight-Captain straightened his back. "There is one more thing I would ask of you, guard captain.

"I'm listening."

"Do you know the whereabouts of any member of this household?"

Aveline had every intention of lying to Cullen. If Burgamond believed that he had succeeded in murdering Marian, then she would remain safe and her body would have time to heal.

"No, I have yet to locate anyone who lives in the mansion." Aveline did not hesitate to say. "Why do you think we are searching the house for clues? I may be doing this as part of my duty, but it is more out of friendship. I will not stop until I find them."

_Did he buy that lie? _thought Aveline_. _She stared at him with stony resolve never dropping her eyes from his. When Cullen was the first to look away, Aveline was able to breathe again. _He believed me. Hawke always said he was pretty but dumb._

Cullen nodded his head once. "Well, then, I will leave you to your investigation. If you should find information concerning the apostate Sol, it is imperative that you report it to the order immediately, preferably to me since I have been charged with the task of locating the rogue mage."

"Of course, Knight-Captain," Aveline answered and nodded her head.

_Apostate Sol? Maker, this is not good, _thought Aveline. _I have to find a way to get him safely out of Kirkwall._

"Donnic," Aveline whispered once the door had shut behind Cullen. "Sebastian has Bodahn, Anso and Sandal at the Chantry. I need you to go there and make certain that they cannot be found and..." She grabbed his shoulder before he could walk away, "tell Sebastian what has happened here."

"If I may ask, where will you be Captain?" Donnic sounded concerned. "In case I should need to find you."

Aveline made certain no one was listening. "I want to question the man from the warehouse."

"What if he hasn't awoken?" Donnic allowed a smirk to emerge. "Bodahn did hit him rather hard on the head."

"If I can't question him we will have to move everyone, including Gamlen, to a safer location," Aveline whispered. "After Chantry services, I am certain that is the next place the templars will visit."

Donnic smiled. "Right, then I shall see to making three dwarves disappear while you question an unconscious man."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, guardsman. You're dismissed," Aveline answered and rolled her eyes. _Maker, my husband has bad comedic timing. _"Guardsman..." Donnic's head turned. "Be careful."

The warning was noted.

Aveline dismissed all but two of her men. They were charged with the removal of Orana's body. _What an awful way to die. It seems unfair that someone so kind and innocent was made to suffer such a brutal end. _

The keys to the Hawke estate rattled as Aveline turned them in the lock. Outside, dawn had come, and with it, a new set of problems.

Events had begun to unfold into an interconnected web of chaos, and at the center, spinning a thread of lies and deceit was Burgamond. What he had to gain by attempting to kill Hawke, Aveline could not fathom. For countless months the man had tried to court her friend. If she had to guess, it was pride that had driven him to this madness. A man such as him would hate to come second to an elf, and doubly so to a former slave. But, she had to wonder if it really was competitiveness that had caused him to take such dire action. She supposed a lifetime of obtainment had made him obsessive to the point that, no matter the object, whether human or thing, he would have it.

Aveline stretched her back and rolled her neck. Sebastian had awoken her in the early hours of the morning. The priest had recounted how he had found Sandal at his bedside smiling and muttering about the big shiny. Once he noticed that the dwarf was alone, Sebastian had gone straight to Hawke's mansion in search of Bodahn. What he found was a dead maidservant and 'I will kill you all' written on the bedroom walls in Orana's blood.

_Orana's dead, Bodahn rescued Hawke, Sandal was found in the Chantry, so where is Fenris? Maker, I hope he was able to get away from Burgamond. The window on the landing was shattered, maybe he… There's no point in guessing. _

During her contemplative walk from Hightown to Lowtown, Aveline decided that it was time to bring everyone together and form a plan. Her inquisitive nature demanded an understanding of the events that had led to Marian's decision to bring the fight to Burgamond's door.

As she approached Gamlen's hovel, she noticed a puff of smoke near the doorway. Varric was taking slow drags from a pipe. The smell of the burning leaf was highly pungent.

The guardswoman climbed the steps to meet with the dwarf. "Varric?" Aveline inquired. "You don't smoke."

"I do when my friends have had the shit beaten out of them." He offered her the pipe. "It's good stuff. You should try it."

She pushed it away from her nose with a look of disgust. "Keep it for yourself." The dwarf shrugged his shoulders and continued to smoke. "How is she?"

"I think," Varric inhaled, "you should be asking: how is _he_?"

"What?"

The pipe remained firmly rooted to his lips. He gestured to the hovel with his head. "Fenris is questioning the man from the warehouse. From the screams I've heard, I'd say it's not going so well."

"Maker's breath." Aveline was exhausted. The night and day were blurring together. "Why didn't you stop him, Varric? I need that man alive."

Varric's red eyes pinned the guardswoman. "The bastard deserves it." Aveline waved his puff of smoke away. "You'd better get in there if you want your witness to have his innards intact."

"You're high, Varric, and if that man dies you will be an accessory to murder," Aveline stated through bleary eyes. "What a start to the day."

Varric countered her accusation with a droll look. Utter lack of concern was his standard answer to a problem. "There are times when I just don't give a shit, Aveline," he shrugged. "Do what you have to do."

"I need to stop him." Aveline raced up the stairs and into the hovel. The storeroom door was open. Inside, she could see the man from the warehouse slumped over in his chair. She was too late.

Fenris withdrew his hand from the man's body and turned to face Aveline. "This man had nothing of interest to say." The body fell to floor and landed in front of the elf's feet. "We are done here."

Whatever relief she had felt at seeing Fenris alive was soon replaced with thoughts of his imminent death. This was the sort of reckless behavior she had feared.

Aveline grabbed his shoulder. "Why?" she implored, "why do you always have to take things to the extreme, Fenris?"

"Have you seen her, Aveline?" Fenris pushed her hand away. "Do you even care about Marian, or are you too concerned with your laws and rules to avenge your friend?"

"Oh, you little bastard." Aveline's eyes flashed with anger. Fenris saw fury and betrayal mix together to produce tears. They were blinked away before they had a chance to well. "If you ever question my loyalty to Hawke again, so help me, I will haul your scrawny Elven rump back to Tevinter and sell your broken bones to the highest bidder."

Fenris's gauntlets closed into tight fists. The markings on his skin glowed with enough intensity to cast light on Aveline's face. "I do not take kindly to threats whether empty or true," Fenris said in an eerily low voice. "I will not wait for you to plod through this investigation while the man who has done this to Marian walks free. There is only one acceptable outcome."

"You sound like the Arishok, and we know how that ended," Aveline countered. "Before you do something foolish and get yourself killed, Fenris, I think you should know that it was Hawke's recklessness and overprotective feelings for you that caused this mess. Don't repeat the mistake."

"You have resorted to guilt in an attempt to delay me? Pathetic," Fenris said in a venomous tone. "Whatever it is you have to say, it will not change my mind".

"It might," Aveline pointed to the storeroom. "Merrill, would you ask Varric to join us? We need to speak with Fenris."

Anders had heard Aveline's raised voice. Strangely, it had been a nice reprieve from the screams of the thug. "If this concerns Hawke then I think we all have a right to listen."

"This conversation is of a personal matter," said Aveline. "It would be best if it remains private."

Anders curled his lip. His visible dissatisfaction amused Aveline. "Fine. Keep us all in the dark. But our deaths will be on your head."

Varric had walked in. "Whoa there, Blondie." His voice was deeper than usual. "Unless you enjoy watching Fenris glow and throw things, it would be best if you sit this one out."

Aveline stepped forward. "Look, I am concerned for the safety of everyone and I will make certain that any information that is relevant is openly discussed," Aveline said. "But this conversation is for Fenris's ears only. Afterwards, it will be his decision what to disclose."

Anders lifted his hands to the air. "Fine. Whatever." He walked away in huff and into the backroom. The door slammed shut behind him.

"What about me?" Merrill said. "Can I listen?"

Aveline closed the storeroom door in her face.

"I guess not."

_Now I am labored with telling Fenris how this entire farce started, _thought Aveline_. I guess I owe Hawke this much. _She rolled her eyes_. But Maker, why of all people did it have to be Fenris?_

Fenris was sitting in his seat with the posture of a belligerent child. "How is it that Hawke's reckless and overprotective feelings for me caused this mess? Do tell, and quickly, I have errands to run."

Varric ran his hands over his face. "Shit, are you sure this is a good idea, Aveline? I mean, you know he is going to kill Burgamond no matter what we say."

"Correct," Fenris said with a challenging look. "Why waste your breath?"

"I can't stop you Fenris. I would probably thank you afterwards. But, have you considered Hawke?" Aveline barked out the words. "Have you considered how she will feel when she wakes up and finds out that you are dead?"

Fenris folded his arms over his chest. "You assume I will die."

"Even if you managed to kill him, and somehow not be killed in return, the Knight- Commander and the city would demand that you be brought to justice," Aveline added. "I hate to say it, but Hawke is going to need you, probably more than any of us."

Fenris shifted uneasily in his chair. He hated it when Hawke's emotions were used for persuasion. "I will listen but I promise nothing."

Varric shook his head. "Alright then," he sighed. "Usually I like a good story but not when it involves the elf. It always makes him mad."

"Show no fear Varric," Aveline reassured with a light smile.

"What?" Varric pointed to his chest. "You think I am telling him?"

"You're the storyteller," Aveline said. "Do what you do best."

Fenris scoffed. "What? Tell a bunch of lies?"

"I am afraid, broody, that it will be nothing but the truth this time," Varric said as he leaned back into his seat. "And you are not going to like it."


	23. Chapter 23: Friendship

**Thanks to everyone for their continued interest, reviews, alerts, favorite and all that good stuff. This is a long chapter because I didn't want the momentum to be interrupted. It's Fenris's fault.**

**Chapter 23: Friendship**

"Alright," Varric sighed. "Let's get this over with," he pointed at Fenris. "But remember, elf, it wasn't my idea to tell you, so no killing the dwarf."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "Get on with it Varric."

Varric brought his hands together and he looked like a man that was about to pray. A part of him wondered if he should. Fenris was unpredictable. "This is how it started: Hawke came to me one day, out of the blue, and asked for a special favor." Varric's voice was calm but uneasy. "It came with the proviso that I had to keep my mouth shut."

"What kind of favor? Fenris cocked an eyebrow. The statement felt like an implicative nod towards a problem of a personal nature. Marian, to his knowledge, did not readily reveal the inner workings of her life to Varric. "And why would she seek your aid?"

The dwarf cleared his throat. "She wanted a book." Varric shared a glance with Aveline. "But you know Hawke, it couldn't be a book about baking or 101 ways to please your elf." He shook his head. "No, it had to be something that would attract unwanted attention."

"It is hard to believe one simple request turned into this nightmare," Aveline said. _She simply wanted a book. I often wonder: why Hawke? Chaos seems to always be nipping at her heels, even when her intentions are noble. Yes, she can be impetuous, but no one deserves this. I do hope Fenris will forgive her. He is so dear to that woman...Maker knows why._ "Keep in mind, Fenris that she only wanted to help. I would have done the same for Donnic."

"Yeah, but you would have told Donnic from the beginning," Varric added. "And I would have been able to tell everyone about it. Do you know how hard it has been for me to keep my mouth shut?"

"I have often wondered if you continue to talk in your sleep," Fenris said without mirth.

Aveline ignored their quips and continued. "Yes, but I would have been assured of Donnic's reaction. He would not have..."

Fenris had been glancing between his two friends. "Are either one of you going to make sense soon? My patience grows thin."

And as if Fenris had proven her point, Aveline gestured towards him. "Your impatience and unwillingness to listen are the very reasons why Hawke did this without your knowledge."

"What did she do?" Fenris demanded an answer. "You speak in riddles."

"Keep your spikes on, elf," Varric tried to soothe him with some antagonistic humor. Fenris's grim expression remained unchanged. "So, Hawke wanted me to find a book that would help her understand your markings, but obviously, you weren't to know about it... for whatever reason." Varric rushed the words out. It reminded him of the time he had to have one of his teeth pulled, except he felt this situation was going to be longer and more painful. "I told her she should tell you, but Hawke's stubborn, and when she has her mind set on something, there is no point in arguing."

Fenris's face had begun to flush. "Why would she not consult me first?"

"She was afraid you would leave again," Aveline interjected. "Hawke spoke to me about personal issues that suggested your memories were returning." Aveline had to look away. The words were embarrassing but necessary. "Basically, Fenris, she was worried there would be a repeat performance of three years ago."

"She told you what?" He leapt out of his chair. "When did our personal life become any of your business, Aveline?"

"When did mine?" she retorted. "You knew that Donnic and I had talked about having children, and many other things that we are _not_ going to discuss in front of Varric."

"Hey, it's only fair, Aveline. We know about the elf's love life, we should know about yours."

"Shut up, Varric." Aveline turned her attention back to Fenris. "At the heart of this entire mess was Hawke's fear of losing you. If she could find a book that explained your markings, she believed that maybe there was a way to return your memories. But..."

"What?" Fenris asked, accusation dripping from his voice. "Did she find something?"

"There were complications," Varric said.

"Why am I not surprised." Fenris briskly folded his arms over his chest. "The legacy of Danarius continues to haunt me."

Varric ignored the angst-ridden statement and continued. "I talked to my contacts," he clarified. "I told them I wanted a price list for Tevinter books with lyrium in the synopsis. I kept it as quiet as possible," he shook his head and sighed. "Everett was an informant that I'd used for five years. _Five years_," he emphasized, "And that bastard double crossed me."

"I don't understand," Fenris was truly puzzled. "You were looking for a book. How could that information be used in any important capacity?"

"This is where things get interesting," Varric continued. "Everett knew a guy who used to captain a Tevinter spice ship, Vance, the part-time slave trader. Remember him?"

"I am not sure," Fenris tried place the name with a face. "I have killed many slavers over the years. Humans tend to sometimes look alike."

"I resent that," Aveline said. "So would Hawke if she were here."

"If she were here," Fenris gestured towards the backroom, "_Marian_ would have more to consider than whether I think humans look alike."

Varric quickly continued. He did not want to give the elf a chance to vent. "Anyway, Everett asked Vance if he could come up with a list of rare book dealers in Tevinter."

"Yes, I understand, Varric," Fenris began to pace. _Lies, deceit, why would Marian keep this from me? _

Varric held out his hands; a gesture to calm the angst from boiling over. "After you killed Vance, Hawke found some papers on his body that he was supposed to give to Everett from his 'other' employer. Like I said, the bastard double crossed me."

"She knew this and did not tell?" Fenris was furious. "I... when she wakes up I will..."

"Continue Varric before he paces a hole in the floor," Aveline said. "And you _will _reserve your anger over this matter until Hawke is well or I will make certain that you will not be there when she wakes up, Fenris."

"Another empty threat, Aveline?"

"No, that was a very sincere threat," Aveline leaned forward and locked eyes with Fenris. "Do you want to try me?"

"So," Varric said loudly to regain control of the conversation. "Burgamond..." The name got Fenris's attention, "requested an audience with Everett, after he learned through Vance that the Champion was searching for a book that was obviously to do with you, elf. During our interrogation, Everett revealed that Burgamond had learned that there was a staff that went along with the book."

"I assume Burgamond learned this through his connections in Tevinter," Fenris said. "Magisters would be more than willing to sell their 'trade secrets' for the right price."

Aveline and Varric moved uncomfortably in their chairs. Aveline was the braver of the two and offered up the information. "No, Fenris. Everett had been charged with bringing an elf back from Wildervale. He stated that this particular elf was extremely knowledgeable about Tevinter magisters and their instruments of magic." She dreaded her next statement. "It was your sister, Varania."

Fenris closed his eyes. Obvious pain flooded his face. "Varania? She is working for Burgamond?"

"Uh, she was," Varric said. "Well... until... "

Fenris leaned over Varric, the same way he had before murdering Hadriana. "Until what?"

Varric eyed the gauntleted hands gripping his chairs armrests. The temper tantrum had been expected, but being on the receiving end of Fenris's murderous glare was more than he was willing to endure.

"Back off, Fenris," Varric said in an even, threatening tone. "Bianca is getting a bit twitchy, besides..." He examined his fingernails in a nonchalant manner. "I'm not your enemy."

Aveline's hand had unconsciously slid to the hilt of her sword. She was quite surprised to find it there. "Fenris, directing your anger towards us is only going to make this more painful." The elf walked away from Varric half ashamed of his actions, but still brimming with rage. "There is more if you will listen."

"This is not what I expected," Fenris said. He tried to hide the pain, but Aveline noticed the strained inflection in his voice. She was sympathetic, but cautious. If Fenris detected the slightest sign of pity he would adversely react. The conversation was already tense. "Continue."

Varric was certain the conversation was going to end in disaster, but he continued. "Everett was supposed to mention Varania to me and I was supposed to pass along her note to Hawke. She wanted to meet Hawke outside the alienage. So, the three of us went to meet your sister."

"You were both there?" Fenris seethed.

"It was a complicated situation and..." Varric shrugged. "We thought Hawke knew what she was doing. I mean, she's always been levelheaded," he considered that statement and quickly added, "to some degree."

Fenris glanced sharply at Aveline. "I understand the dwarf's incompetence, but why didn't you come to me, Aveline?"

"Hey now," Varric tried to mollify the tension with his comment. "That was uncalled for."

"It wasn't my place to tell you," Aveline stared back at Fenris, unwavering with her admission. "This was Hawke's mess, and honestly, if she felt too afraid to tell you because she feared you would leave, then maybe the two of you need to take a long hard look at your relationship."

"It will be addressed," Fenris grumbled. There was no lack of disgust on his face. "You met with Varania. What did she want?"

"She wanted to give you a book," Varric said. "It was something to do with your family history. I have no idea if it was genuine or not. Hawke took it back to the mansion after..."

The hesitation in the dwarf's voice unnerved Fenris. "After what?" he demanded an immediate answer.

Aveline put Varric out of his verbal misery. "After Hawke killed your sister."

"She did what!" Fenris screamed. He began to pace in distinct hurried steps. "I see." His eyes moved frantically back and forth while he tried to digest what he had been told. "The decision was never really mine to make. Hawke knows best."

Varric noticed that Fenris had resorted to calling Marian by her nickname. Their relationship was deteriorating right before his eyes.

"She wanted to protect you Fenris," Aveline said. There had to be something she could say to help. She did not like to see Fenris suffer. "The day Danarius came to claim you, and Varania betrayed you, Hawke asked you not kill your sister because she wanted you to be the better person. She did not want to see you give in to hate."

"But Hawke did that very thing!"

"Yes and no," Aveline said. "Burgamond had agreed that he would help Varania become a magister if she told him the location of the book and the staff." Aveline was trying to get through to Fenris. "But the reason, Marian," she said in a tender voice, "killed your sister, was because, Varania had agreed to wipe your memory and..." her voice grew emotional, "return with you to the Imperium. You would have become your sister's slave."

"This...did not happen!" Fenris shouted and his eyes welled. The firelight revealed the unshed tears to Aveline. "Marian would not do this to me!"

"Why can you not understand that she did this out love. She wanted to save you the pain of knowing," Aveline implored. "It was misguided, yes, but it was done with the best intentions, Fenris. Burgamond is to blame."

Fenris grabbed a large crate and threw it against the wall. Splintered shards flew in several directions. Varric covered his face for fear of getting shredded by the wood.

"Burgamond is to blame!" Fenris growled. He opened the door to the storeroom with enough force to unhinge it. Merrill, Sol and Anders backed away. They had been listening in. Fenris ignored their presence completely and walked out of the hovel.

"Did that elf just break my door?" Gamlen said. "He better bloody fix it!"

"Not now, Gamlen," Aveline turned to Varric. "We need to stop him."

Fenris's emotions were never obvious to Aveline until they bubbled to the surface. He was a man that could face Ogres in combat without the slightest indication that he was frightened. Even his threats were spoken like a person engaged in a normal conversation. But this was different. She was convinced he no longer cared if he lived or died. Fenris was vulnerable

The dwarf and guardswoman ran from the hovel to catch up.

"Fenris," Aveline said in a firm voice. "Where are you going?"

"To kill Burgamond," he said without emotion. "It has been proven to me once again that I can trust no one.

They struggled to keep pace with Fenris. "That's not true, elf," Varric said. "You _can_ trust Hawke. You just need to work on the communication part of your relationship." Varric leaned towards Aveline. "Run ahead and get Isabela. Tell her to bring lots of flasks."

"I don't want your help, Varric," said Fenris.

"Yeah I know, but I am going to help you anyway. It's what dwarves do."

Fenris unsheathed his broadsword, and in one graceful movement it had come to rest against Varric's throat. "Follow me and I will cut you."

The threat was sincere, Varric believed, but he always did like to gamble. He lifted his head and exposed more of his neck. "You better go ahead and do it then, because I have no intention of walking away from this."

Fenris sheathed his sword. "You do not want to be a part of this Varric," he looked towards Hightown. "It is not going to end well."

"That depends," Varric said with a grin. "I know we can do this without dying. We just need to come up with a plan."

"I am not interested," Fenris said and continued to walk away.

It was then Varric came to the same conclusion as Aveline. _He doesn't care anymore..._

"Shit," Varric muttered under his breath. "Fenris, don't do this."

Varric saw Isabela leaning against the door of the Hanged Man. Aveline was at her side. He ran to them, but kept a firm eye on Fenris.

"What's going on?" Isabela asked.

"That elf is about to do something stupid," Varric said. "I tried to convince him to let me help and the bastard turned on me."

Isabela gave Varric an incredulous look. "You told him didn't you?" She fixed her gaze on Aveline and then Varric. "Why? It could have waited."

"We were trying to stop him from killing Burgamond," Varric fondled his earring in the usual nervous habit. "It didn't quite work out."

Isabela was humored by their logic. "And you thought telling him that Hawke killed his sister would somehow make him less insane?"

"We don't have time to argue about this now." Aveline noticed that it would not be long before Fenris passed through the Lowtown gate and into Hightown. "We have to stop him!"

Isabela grinned. "Leave it to me," she said with confidence. "Varric, grab three cloaks from the Hanged Man and catch up with us."

"Three cloaks?" Varric wanted a full explanation. "What the hell do we need those for?"

Isabela's confident chuckle did not reassure the dwarf. "Let me handle Fenris," she purred. The pirate started to run towards the elf. "Oh, and Varric?" she yelled over her shoulder.

"What, Rivaini?"

"Bring plenty of elfroot!"

Varric rubbed his forehead. The situation was definitely out of control. "Aveline, you need to move everyone from Gamlen's house to the safe house." She started to form an argument, but Varric waylaid it with a wave of his hand. "_You _cannot be a part of this," he insisted. "Once this is done, we are going to be on your wanted list."

"Varric, I am not going to stand by while Fenris goes off to get himself killed!" Aveline stared down at the dwarf with a hard look. "I am also guard captain and I am required to stop any unlawful activity, especially if I know it is about to take place."

Varric pointed to Fenris. "So, you are going to let Burgamond walk free?" he asked. "The elf is going to kill him no matter what you do or say. To be honest, I want to help him."

Aveline laid her hands on her hips. The thug mentality went against everything she believed. "Well, in that case, wait here while I go grab my torch and pitchfork,"

A sudden yelp followed by a clattering of armor drew Aveline and Varric's attention. Isabela had jumped on Fenris's back. The elf's lyrium markings were glowing a radiant blue.

"Get off of me, wench!" Fenris yelled. He backed his body into a wall and slammed Isabela against it three times. The pirate fell to the ground clutching her stomach.

"What the..." Varric stuttered. "What the hell are they doing?"

"Isabela, you clever whore." Aveline was impressed, though she would never admit it to the pirate queen. "Go get the elfroot, Varric. I will help Isabela tame the beast."

"_This_ is going to get exciting isn't it?" The dwarf sounded almost hopeful. There was never a lack of story material in Kirkwall, but the scene taking place before him had all the hallmarks of a great story. "Try not to kill each other until I get back. I want to watch."

Aveline pointed to the door of the Hanged Man. "Now, Varric!" she roared. "This is serious."

Varric raced up the stairs to his room as fast as his stumpy little legs could carry him. The chest in the corner held his potions. He threw the lid open and grabbed a handful. "Damn it," he mumbled, "I'm missing the action."

The sound of metal on metal greeted him outside the Hanged Man. For Varric, it was the sound of sweet success. Aveline, Isabela and Fenris were locked tight in battle.

"Leave me alone!" Fenris yelled at Isabela. So far, Aveline had not posed a threat. "I do not want hurt you, but I will if you try and interfere again."

Isabela drew her daggers. She smiled in the face of her adversary. "I'm not letting you leave without a goodbye kiss."

"This is your last warning," Fenris's chest heaved from the anger coursing through his veins. "The next strike will not be so kind."

Isabela lunged towards Fenris. The attack had been swift and her blade cut through the skin on his bicep. Battle instinct demanded that he retaliate. He moved to face the pirate at his back and without thought to her well being he brought his sword down with the intention to strike. Isabela caught the blade between her daggers.

Fenris was horrified by his actions. "I..." His voice trembled. "Isabela, please forgive..."

The rest of his words never passed his lips. Isabela kicked him in the groin. Fenris doubled over from the pain, and as he did, she kneed him in the face. Blood gushed out of his nose.

"I've won this duel, big boy." Isabela twirled her daggers in her hands. "Let Varric and I help you and I won't cut your balls off. It's the least I can do for Hawke."

Before Isabela could react, Fenris had headbutted the woman with enough intensity to drop her to the ground. The hit had almost rendered her unconscious.

"Bitch," Fenris said with hatred. "This isn't your affair."

Aveline stepped in front of Isabela and raised her shield. "This has gone far enough," she said. "Back down Fenris before I am forced to take action."

Fenris wiped the blood from his nose. "I have no intention of fighting you, Aveline. I only wish to continue to Hightown unimpeded."

"No," Aveline was not going to let him walk to his death. She cared whether he realized it or not. Emotions were something that neither one of them could express properly. "Fenris, if I have to summon all of my guard to stop you I will."

The pained look on his face surprised Aveline. "I will not let that man walk. He is as vile as Danarius," Fenris said. He believed the guardswoman would understand. "I need to do this, Aveline."

She did understand his predicament, and secretly, she agreed that Burgamond should be killed with or without proof of his crime. "I don't want to fight you, but I will if you try to go to Hightown."

"Then you leave me no choice," Fenris said, and he readied his fighting stance. "I regret that it must come to this."

Varric was trying to come to terms with what he had seen. Never, not in all his days would he have imagined that Fenris would turn on Aveline and Isabela. It was unfathomable.

The distinct sound of armored footsteps alerted Varric to the presence of another. Donnic was quickly approaching his position.

"Varric," Donnic said in a skeptical tone. "Why is my wife fighting Fenris?"

"It's a long story," Varric said. Aveline's shield bashed the elf and sent him reeling backwards. The maneuver was countered with a lyrium pulse that incapacitated both women. The thought of the excruciating pain they suffered made Varric's face bunch. "At least they are all starting to tire, finally."

Aveline blocked Fenris's blade with her shield. "Maker, this needs to end before someone dies."

Donnic watched the two women gang up on the elf. They pummeled him in the stomach and the back. "Why are they beating Fenris again?"

"Because, we're trying to stop him from getting killed," Varric said.

"So, beating him is... helping?" Donnic cocked his head to one side and tried to make sense of the situation. "This seems a bit extreme. Don't you think Varric?"

Donnic and Varric watched as Aveline bested Fenris. She had backed him into a wall and her sword was at his throat. Isabela was at her side.

"Lay your sword down, Fenris," Aveline demanded. "We need to talk."

Fenris eyed them both with utter contempt. "You have not won." He used his vambraces to knock their weapons away, and his lyrium to ghost his body. They were unable to find the elf at first until they saw Donnic's naked blade. It was pointed at Fenris's chest.

"Fenris, my dear friend, I do not know what has happened but I will not allow you to harm my wife," Donnic's voice echoed with authority and care. "Let us speak."

The sight of his best friend pointing a sword his way defeated Fenris's anger. The large broadsword Marian had given to him as a gift dropped to the ground and so did Fenris. Donnic looked to his wife and Isabela. He motioned for them to leave. They eventually did as he asked once it was apparent that Fenris no longer posed a threat.

Donnic took a seat next to his friend. "I think, that maybe, I have underestimated my wife's ability to surprise me."

Fenris gave his friend a sidelong glance. "I think you need to tame the shrew."

The best friends shared a brief laugh. Their attention soon turned to the more serious matter of Burgamond and murder.

11


	24. Chapter 24: Conspiracy

**Notes:** I am receiving my messages late from FF net. This was confirmed by TIM. So, if I do not get back to you in a timely manner you know why. Thanks to everyone for your kind words! Many hugs and thanks!

Chapter 25 was something I decided to leave as is. It just wasn't going to fit into my plans for chapter 26. Sorry for the shortness. Maybe it's more poignant that way or just looks silly. I don't know. The sentence at the top of chapter 25 is by Friedrich Nietzsche. I borrowed. ;)

**Chapter 24**

Lord Burgamond handed a glass of water to magister Lavintus. The lord's guest was a balding man in his late fifties, fashionably dressed and well groomed. His dull eyes were small and insignificant and his face was aged and wrinkled. In Tevinter, he held a position of respected power, of which there were varying degrees, even among magisters. It was not as grand as others, but was sufficient enough to be considered important. He was also an overindulgent man with cruel habits and a taste for the exotic. Wine, sex and rich food were the delights of the average magister, but it seemed to Altan, that Tevinter's elite were a group of flamboyant sadists, Lavintus among them.

"I am rather surprised to see you here, Lavintus, and so early in the morning," Burgamond chided and then smiled, "Your nocturnal activities are renowned in Tevinter."

Magister Lavintus sipped his water. His gaze, however, remained firmly fixed on Burgamond's. "I would like to say that magister Ahriman sends his regards, but he is rather disappointed in you, Altan." The magister let his eyes wander around the room in a teasing fashion. "Do you have the elf?"

"The elf?" Altan scoffed. "Two weeks ago you doubted I could acquire the amulet. Now, I have killed the Champion of Kirkwall and taken her magic." Altan's patience was growing thin. The magisters continued lack of faith was a source of fierce contention. "Ahriman is dissatisfied," he grunted "The elf hardly seems relevant."

Magister Lavintus rose from his seat and crossed the room. He studied Kirkwall from the mansion window. It was a pathetic city, he felt, defined by simplistic inhabitants who would never rise above their petty existence. The architecture was drab and lacked the grandeur of Tevinter's cities. In his opinion it did not seem to suit Burgamond

"Why do you live _here_?" Magister Lavintus said with disgust. He trailed a finger along the window ledge and was displeased to find it dirty. "It is... unsanitary."

Burgamond chuckled while he watched the magister rub the dust away from his finger. "Yes, of course, how could a man live without a bathhouse? Oh, and a few hundred slaves at his beck and call?" he added with a grin. _These magisters think too much of their luxuries and less of responsibility. It will be their downfall. _"Be careful what you say, Lavintus. My mother was born here."

"Yes, well," Lavintus gestured to the outside. "You could always move. Tevinter would suit you I think."

"Of course, my friend," Burgamond poured a glass of wine. He offered a glass to the magister who refused it with a simple wave of his hand. "Surely, a magister does not begin his day with a plain glass of water? I am beginning to wonder if that reputation of yours is merely a myth."

Lavintus ignored the quip. "So tell me, how did you kill the mighty Arishok slayer, the grand Champion of Kirkwall?" Lavintus asked, sounding majestic in his deliverance. The defeat of the Arishok at the hands of a human mage was a popular story in Tevinter. It had captured the magisters imaginations. "I know you want to tell me Altan. You are not a humble man."

_And as usual, Lavintus wishes details. He will return to Tevinter with his gossip, never mention my name for fear of death, and regale his friends over dinner with the story. Magisters are so predictable._

"I threatened her wolf," Burgamond said without pomp. "You see, there are some things you magisters will never understand, and that is why you cannot defeat the Quanari."

"And what is that?" Lavintus asked, absurdity lingering in his words. "Do tell."

"You lack subtlety and finesse," Burgamond lectured. "You go into your battles throwing fireballs and shooting lightning from your fingertips." His hands overly gestured and his voice became excited as he spoke. "Who has ever heard of a magister assassin? No one! That would require a magister to stop speaking his praises long enough to actually kill someone. 'I am so powerful, Tevinter is so great',"he mimicked the magisters in a whiney voice,"and already the Quanari have thrown a spear through your heart and you, my friend, are lying face down in the dirt wondering how it all went wrong."

"Very good, Altan," Lavintus clapped like an unimpressed spectator. "Your wit is entertaining as always." The magister turned his mind to other matters. He tried to hide his growing excitement, but he lived for gossip. "So, you threatened the elf? And she..."

_This is going to be a trying explanation. _Altan sighed. "And she did not take kindly to the threat."

"But, he is an elf." The very idea confused the magister and he shrugged his shoulders. "Why would she... I am sorry, I don't quite understand."

Burgamond laughed. "Of course not. How could a man that sells and kills them like sheep possibly understand? She was in love with him. Is it really so hard to believe?"

"Yes," Lavintus said in a definitive tone. "I understand attachment and he is very valuable, but love? That is absurd, Altan." He waved the comment away like a pestering fly. "She was a noblewoman, correct?"

Altan nodded. "She was a very witty and lovely woman, a rare find." Burgamond could see that his candor had shocked Lavintus. The magister was waiting for an insult or a reason why killing her was not a loss. "People in this city, that you detest, sing her praises."

"Ah, a rare find?" Lavintus said. He believed he was on to something. "Is that why you pursued her?"

Burgamond masked his emotions. The matter was verging on personal and that was a side he would not show to a magister. They had a way of cataloguing information and using it to their advantage later. "Perhaps that is why I was fascinated by the woman, but my reasons are my own, and I am not going to share them with you, Lavintus," Burgamond said and looked away. The question had insulted his pride. To be reminded that he had been unable to compete with the elf raised his anger.

"These people did not object to this noblewoman's infatuation with an ex slave?" Lavintus placed his hands on his hips. "Surely, they did not flaunt this..." he was almost lost for words, "relationship in their faces."

"Flaunt is hardly how I would describe it, my friend." Burgamond looked as if he were reliving a fond memory. "You did not know Marian Hawke. I saw the woman fight the Arishok in single combat and win." A contemplative but questioning look was directed at Lavintus. "Tell me, would you have dared reproach a person of that magnitude for their choice of lovers? I think not."

"Did they live together?" Lavintus asked and sounded afraid, as if love between an elf and human could become contagious. "Or was it more of a secret arrangement?"

The conversation was grating for Altan. But, he knew, Lavintus would not rest until he had his curiosity sated. "Yes, they eventually began to live together," Burgamond sighed from the tedium. "If my informant was correct, they were to be married, or at least that was the rumor circling Kirkwall." The lord became visibly irritated. "Honestly, what does it matter?"

Lavintus crossed his arms. "Well, I will never understand. Danarius was always adamant that the elf was skilled in many areas. Maybe the men she held in her company could not satisfy her needs."

Altan did not hesitate to speak. "She loved him. It's quite tragic really."

"She was a rare noblewoman indeed," Lavintus said. The mage sounded unconvinced. But now that he had enough information to gossip adequately at his next dinner party, he returned to business. "I must insist you capture the elf. Ahriman wants to study him."

There was a moment of silence while Altan considered the magister. Lavintus was known for his lies and exaggerations. "Ahriman wishes to study him or you do, Lavintus?" Their eyes met briefly, but Lavintus soon looked away. "You were rather fond of Danarius's bodyguard, were you not?"

"Danarius coveted the slave," Lavintus said in a childlike voice. "He was reluctant to loan him to other magisters."

Lavintus had been an acquaintance of magister Danarius. They mingled in the same circles but were never vast friends. Magisters did not readily trust since it was common practice for them to eventually be eliminated by an opposing party. Fenris, from what Burgamond had learned, was Danarius's prized slave and bodyguard. There was little doubt that the other magisters desired the elf. He was an exceptional warrior and rare, much like Marian Hawke.

"Well, my friend, the elf is now older, and of little entertainment value for you." Burgamond's brow furled and his eyes looked upwards to magister Lavintus. "As I recall you do prefer your... how should I put it?" he paused, "your lovers...victims...very young."

Magister Lavintus smiled and found the statement to be a compliment. "I cannot deny I have a taste for young boys, but I would welcome the company of someone more seasoned." His lascivious smile grew. It was directed at Burgamond and by thoughts of Fenris. "An unfettered man who was once made to please a magister would be highly entertaining."

"Until he ripped your heart out or you tired of him and cut his throat," Burgamond said and looked away. For years he had known of Lavintus's attraction to him. It was not something he desired and he tried to dissuade the magister from acting upon it. "And _you_ should stop with this foolhardy attempt at flirting, Lavintus. You know I am not interested in men, and even if I were, you are fat, ugly and old, and I dare say, quite repulsive."

The insults amused Lavintus, but he found his pride would not let the matter drop. "I may be those things, but I am powerful, Altan, more powerful than you, even with your precious amulet and money."

"Would you like to test that theory?" Burgamond, unlike the magister, was not amused.

"No of course not," Lavintus said and added a nervous chuckle to hopefully diffuse the situation. Altan Burgamond, he knew, was not a man to be trifled with regardless of position. The magister quickly changed subjects for fear of losing his head. "Will you stay and become viscount of this wretched city or will you come to Tevinter and help us carry out magister Ahriman's plans?"

Burgamond leaned back in his chair. "Knight Commander Meredith would be rather disappointed in me if I decided to leave." He refilled his wine glass and offered more to the magister. Lavintus gladly accepted. "To move to Tevinter would not be prudent at this time."

"Will no one suspect you murdered the Champion?" Lavintus asked, fishing for more information.

"No, of course not," Burgamond said with confidence. He puffed out his chest and gave a winning smile. "I am the charming noble bachelor who wanted nothing more than to court the Lady Hawke. I myself was threatened by a blood mage, and Meredith, being ever vigilant, sent templars to protect me. It was a shame that the Champion was targeted instead of me."

Lavintus's eyes widened. "You were threatened by a blood mage? It wasn't me, I assure you."

Burgamond rolled his eyes. "Has that wine gone to your head, Lavintus?" He looked at the label. "It is not even a good year." The noble shook his head. "Let me spell it out for you. The Knight Commander is extremely unpopular and... insane. Without recounting tiresome and lengthy conversations, I was able to convince her that the city needed a new viscount, a person who was not only business minded but supported her ideals."

Lavintus was fascinated by the Knight Commander's involvement. He was eager for details. "Did you sleep with her?" Lavintus asked.

"Have you seen the Knight Commander?" Burgamond said. He took a sip of his wine before continuing to entertain the magister with his abuse of power. "She is not the type of woman to be persuaded into a scheme of this import by wine and sex, Lavintus. I had to play on her fears just as I did Marian's, but in a less threatening and more subtle way." Burgamond crossed his legs and brushed away a wrinkle from his tunic. "You see, many of the powerful nobles of this city wanted the Champion to become viscount. The Knight Commander would," he smiled, "die or murder before a mage were allowed to hold such an office in her city. So, I offered a solution. It was that simple."

"You would make a brilliant magister, Altan," Lavintus pouted. "Will you not at least consider an extended stay in Tevinter?"

"No."

Lavintus was annoyed that Altan would prefer Kirkwall, even with the office of viscount, over Tevinter. Suspicion began to grow in the magister's mind. There had to be a lucrative reason for Burgamond to stay and he was going to learn the details.

"Fine, but what of the elf?" Lavintus's face had turned sullen and his words were said in a sour tone.

"If you have already tried and failed the elf will be of no use to you, and honestly, I just wish to kill him and be done with it." Burgamond's fingers rubbed the outline of his amulet. The maidservant was dead and the dwarf, who had been present during his attack on the mansion, was touched. He could never be identified as the murderer. Fenris was the only one who was now a threat. But, he was certain with Meredith's aid they would find him soon enough.

"The war with the Quanari is... going badly, Altan," Lavintus said and he began to pace. "Danarius was the only magister able to perfect the technique. His book and staff have been missing since his death." Lavintus rubbed his eyes. The cost of failing the task to recover the items would mean his death. "We have lost so many slaves already."

Burgamond folded his hands together. He had enjoyed watching Lavintus worry. "Then you will be pleased to know that the book and staff are two days away."

"You knew of their location and said nothing!" Lavintus leaned over the desk and yelled into Burgamond's face. "If what you say is true then you have committed a grave crime against the Imperium!"

"Lavintus calm yourself," Burgamond said in an even tone. "If I had not intervened you would never have seen Danarius's book and staff again. You should be thanking me, not scolding me."

The magister backed away. He did not want to risk angering Burgamond. "What do you mean, if you had not intervened?" Lavintus asked.

"There were many people who wanted those items, including Marian Hawke, and most of them were not willing to share or would have happily destroyed them," Burgamond said in a half-hearted manner. "But you needn't worry now."

Lavintus noted the darkness that had crept into Burgamond's voice. _You needn't worry now? What did he mean by that statement? Is it a threat, or does he know something that I do not?_

At the sound of the Chantry bells, Burgamond stood. "I am afraid I will have to leave you, Lavintus. I must attend the Chantry service."

Lavintus swallowed his wine quickly before he laughed. "You are an Andrastian, Altan?"

"Do not be ridiculous," Burgamond said. He placed his cloak around his shoulders. "But I must keep up appearances." The lord waggled his finger. "It would not do if the future viscount were seen to be less than a devoted man," he raised an amused eyebrow. "I will probably have to marry next."

Lavintus opened the door. "I will never understand you," Lavintus said and the corners of his mouth turned down.

"I take that as a great compliment." Burgamond clasped the magisters hand in a friendly manner. "Please, while I am gone, make yourself comfortable. I will return shortly."

"As you wish, Altan," Lavintus agreed. "I shall peruse your wine cellar."

"You will find I have great taste and I never disappoint." Burgamond walked through the door and turned. "Oh and Lavintus..."

"Yes, Altan?"

The lord's face grew severe and his eyes narrowed. "Keep your mouth shut."

The magister nodded his head but held his tongue. To speak now would do nothing but antagonize Burgamond further. This, he felt, was turning out to be a dangerous game and one false move would cost him dearly.

Lavintus waited. When he heard Burgamond's front door close, he began to snoop. The magister was convinced the book and staff were already in Burgamond's possession. He would learn that he was not wrong.


	25. Chapter 25: Remember

''Marian, I forgive you for what you did to me, but how can I forgive you for what you did to yourself?''

Fenris kissed Marian upon her bruised lips. In his hand he held his lady's favor and a lock of her hair. They had adorned his gauntlet for years.

He unsheathed a small dagger from his belt and cut a thick strand of his lyrium burnt hair. The two locks were joined and laid together on the red cloth. He wound the material lovingly around her wrist. "Remember me if I should fail you."


	26. Chapter 26: I Miss Your Smile

This was the hardest of all my chapters to write. I... ugggg well I tried. If I had more time I would have gone over this several more days. I hope you find something in it to enjoy. I am soooooo tired. Zyrtec is calling me to go to bed. Thanks as always to everyone reading, alerting, favoriting and reviewing and generally being lovely. :D

**Chapter 26**

Thieves are straightforward. They find a target, something of value, and then formulate a plan to take it. There is no need to overcomplicate the theft with feelings or grandiose ideas. They steal, and if it can be done without harming anyone, even better. A bottle of wine, some baubles and an evening at the Blooming Rose and you're content. That's how Varric saw life.

As he settled back into his chair to lace his boots, Varric gave thought to the vultures, those who picked and pecked to the bone until they had their fill without thought to the physical presence they were slowly erasing. Those were the people Varric feared. They reveled in a person's weaknesses and gladly awaited their fall. _Just like Bartrand, _thought Varric_. He was always willing to hurt someone if it meant he got what he wanted. My brother and that bastard of a noble would have liked each other. Nothing is or was ever good enough. People like them always feel entitled. _

Varric heard the distant sound of the Chantry bells. In years passed he had always associated the clanging noise with the pious sisters, but now the choir boy, Sebastian, came to mind. An exiled prince, former rogue and family embarrassment (Varric's kind of man) turned good. _What a waste._

Bianca was removed from her sheathe and found her rightful place on Varric's back. Knives, grenades, bolts, everything needed for his assignment had to be quickly accessible. When the preparation was completed, he started, what would possibly be his last walk to Hightown.

The noise of the bells echoed down every street in Kirkwall. They could be heard from Hightown to the docks. Varric was of the opinion that Chantry service was meant for the nobility, and for those who wanted to believe a better place awaited them after death, which was understandable if you were poor and lived in Kirkwall. As far as he was concerned, a couple pints of ale was the perfect solution to most problems. It had to be better than convening with people wearing funny robes and whispering to themselves in dark corners. But for his friend, Sebastian, the bells held a different meaning and marked the day he cherished most.

Sebastian donned his chantry robes and admired the plain and simple woolen garment, though, if he were to admit the truth, it itched. Color and comfort, he felt, was sacrificed so that focus remained fixed on Grand Cleric Elthina's words. Ostentatious overtures would not win favor with the Maker. Worldly comfort was not the way of a priest.

Today the people of Kirkwall, whether rich or poor would come together to acknowledge the bride, Andraste. In this holy place they were all equal in the eyes of the Maker.

_Equality, _thought Sebastian_. Why does that word always make me think of Fenris? I suppose his past is the true definition of inequality._ The third ring of the Chantry bell sounded, signaling that the service would begin shortly._ Hawke... dear Marian, I have been told that her condition is grave. I pray to you, blessed Andraste, that Fenris will not allow the sight of his beloved's violated body to dictate his actions, that he will find comfort in knowing the Maker has a design that we cannot fully understand, but that we must trust in our darkest hours. Pray that he knows those who have acted unjust will be held accountable, for nothing wrought from ill will ever became good._

Sebastian ended his prayer with a silent bow of his head. Even as he had whispered the solemn words, there were doubts in his mind; a dissonant chord sown by his royal experience.

_There are nobles I have known that would look the other way if they knew Lord Burgamond had attempted to kill Hawke. It's always a matter of status, power... and fear. I believe Bodahn's testimony, but the fact remains that he did not witness the actual crime, and none who have the power to truly prosecute Lord Burgamond would put their faith alone in Fenris's words. I pray that Aveline will find the evidence to convict the man. His crime should not go unpunished. _Sebastian bowed his head_. Maker, give me strength to remain impartial when I see him today. He is not to be judged by me in this holy place and on the holiest of days._

The rise and fall of chanting voices brought the exiled prince out of his reverie. He left his chamber to join the mass in the inner sanctuary.

Light flooded through the open Chantry doors and illuminated the golden statue of the Maker's bride. It was a rich sight to behold in a room that was often cast only in the light of wax tapers. The fresh air too was welcomed in favor of the stuffiness and pungent smell of incense.

Below the dais, Sebastian observed groups of nobles dressed in their velvets and brocades, some with feathers in their hats. To think that he once placed value on such things over serving the Maker filled his heart with remorsefulness. _They are lost, _thought Sebastian_. Maker guide them. _Towards the middle of the congregation he spied Lord Burgamond; his lips were moving in what looked like prayer. Sebastian was transfixed by the scene. _I have known men like him, many in fact. They would smile to your face and yet knife you in the back if it served their purpose. Is that not what happened to my family? Those who are powerful yet just attract vipers. _He sighed. _I must remain neutral until we are shown the truth. _

Lord Burgamond was lost in thought. The Chantry always reminded him of his deceased mother. Every week she insisted he attend service. As a young boy he had considered it a punishment to be forced to listen to the monotone voice of the grand cleric. It wasn't until he was older, and well schooled by his father in the art of eavesdropping, that he truly appreciated the Chantry. It was a rich source of knowledge, the type that could be used against an adversary. Fortunes were made and broken if one knew where to remain, unobserved while listening to confessions.

Lord Burgamond noticed Sebastian's eyes lingering where he knelt. It was common knowledge that the exiled prince was one of Hawke's close companions. _Why does he stare at me? Is he hiding the wolf in the Chantry? Surely, the grand cleric would refuse to grant the elf immunity._

"You will die today," a voice whispered to Burgamond. "Marian Hawke comes for you."

Gently, Burgamond turned in the direction of the whisper. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a cloak bellow about a tall figure whose face was masked by a hood. Burgamond hesitated. The voice was not the elf's, it had been a woman. The Knight Commander's body loomed in front of him. He was tempted to ask for her aid, but the chantry was too public and unwanted attention would be drawn to them. _This is work of the elf, _he thought._ Marian is dead, lying at the bottom of the ocean. He seeks to draw me out into the open and fight with the aid of his companions. _Burgamond had to make a choice to stay or follow. The doors to the Chantry would soon close and it was forbidden to leave once the service began.

Burgamond rose gently from the ground and made for the Chantry entrance. While he walked, his fingers grazed over the outline of the amulet under his tunic, the one that had once held the power of a fearsome mage. _The wolf wants to play games, _thought Burgamond_. Then we shall play games. _

In the distance, he could see the fabric of the cloak that had taunted him in the Chantry. It wavered in the wind of the woman's step. _This isn't the elf's style, _thought Burgamond. _A bold warrior does not hide behind a skirt. Could this be... the work of a magister?_ The chase had ended in Hightown market. It appeared to Burgamond that the woman was trying to blend in with the crowd. _Whatever game is being played the actress is amateurish at best._

Then, as if he had been cursed by his own egotistical thought, he lost sight of his target. The nobleman sped to the spot where the woman had stood.

"Marian," a voice whispered. "Hawke."

Burgamond whirled around to stare a burly fat man in the face.

"Marian," a voice said. "Hawke."

Again, he heard the same two words one after another. People were shuffling about, unfamiliar faces circling around, whispering what he believed the same words again and again. But, the sound could not be pinpointed. It came from nowhere and yet it was everywhere. _Madness! _Burgamond thought_. A game... it is simply a game. _He tried to reassure his growing doubts. _This is not the workings of the elf. It has to be the magisters. _His face grew dark and his eyes narrowed. _Lavintus... he is behind this ruse. I will have his hide for this. _The sight of the cloak he saw in the Chantry awoke Burgamond's anger. _That woman I have followed is obviously an agent of the Imperium. She tries to taunt me to lead me into a trap. But I will not be manipulated like the strings of a marionette. I am certain Lavintus seeks the staff and book while I walk through the streets chasing phantoms. _

The whisper of Marian's name continued to sound while Lord Burgamond navigated his way through the growing crowd. Paranoia started to chisel away at his normal calm demeanor. _Could it be that she lives? _

"Hawke."

Burgamond searched, but not one could be identified as the person who had spoken the word.

_They toy with me, those wretched magisters, _thought Burgamond._ If I do not steel my nerves they will have me admitting to my crime before sundown. _

He had just passed Hawke's mansion when he noticed the door was ajar. _Curious..._While he contemplated if he should peek inside, a gust of wind teased a creak from its hinges. Burgamond walked forward and opened the door fully.

"Hello?" Burgamond said. He took one step in. There was no sign of life, not a single candle was lit. "I do not mean to intrude, but the door was open." His voice echoed throughout the foyer.

Silence.

A strong hand grabbed Burgamond's shoulder. "Can I help you?" A powerful voice asked.

He turned around to see that he was face to face with Guard Captain, Aveline. "Maker, but you frightened me," Burgamond gasped. She had taken his breath away. "What are you doing here, guard captain?"

Aveline crossed her arms. "I could ask you the same question," she said in a steady but intimidating tone. "This is a crime scene, as you well know, not a place where one would expect to find a nobleman."

"I am sorry." Burgamond tried to appear shocked. "A crime scene? What do you mean?"

Aveline leaned forward and stared unfaltering into the nobleman's eyes. Oh_ Maker this should be good for a laugh. He has picked the wrong day to dick with me._

Her voice lowered. "I know you did this," she whispered. "Save your charade for the Knight Commander." Burgamond went to speak, but Aveline waylaid his words. "Just try me," she finished through gritted teeth.

"The door was open," he said and added a debonair smile. "Forgive me if I have somehow offended you, guard captain." He finished with a nod of his head. "Good day."

The door to the mansion slammed in his face. A self-satisfied smile and a growing sense of superiority replaced any doubts he had concerning Marian. _The woman is dead, Altan. You should not worry yourself so. _

During the walk home, Burgamond had begun to devise a plan to terminate magister Lavintus. _I cannot kill him while he is in Kirkwall. He is also aware of that fact, otherwise he would not have dared to manipulate me in this manner. No, I must wait until he returns to the Imperium or the blame will be easily laid at my feet. _He laughed. _Honestly, the man has had more assassination attempts than friends._

Burgamond examined the upper windows of his mansion before stepping a foot inside. The candles still burned and he believed he saw movement. Upon his entrance, he removed his cloak and placed it on a hook. "Lavintus!" he called. "I am back early... I forgot that that there were some things I needed to discuss with you before your departure. I suppose..." he chuckled, "that the Maker will forgive me for leaving early."

The magister did not reply. "Lavintus, has that wine gone to your head already?" Burgamond walked quietly across the room and paused when he reached the stairs. He strained to hear a noise, anything that would reassure him of Lavintus's presence.

_I know he did not find the staff and book. It's too well guarded and he is too stupid. But I wonder..._

A cloaked figure stepped from the hallway and walked to the center of the landing. The shadow of his hood masked his face. His stance was intimidating, confident and tall. The covered body added an air of menace to an already disturbing sight.

"Who are you?" Burgmaond said and eyed the form above him with the curiosity of a cat. "Is this another game, Lavintus?"

Three cloaked figures emerged from behind the grand staircase and stood before Burgamond. The lord gestured towards them. "What is this?" Burgamond tried to look unimpressed. "If you intend to kill me then please do it with dignity. Reveal yourselves."

When it became apparent that the cloaked people were not going to comply with his demand, Burgamond decided to strike. He harnessed the trapped magical power inside the amulet, and from it, two orbs of lightning were born. Charged energy surged from his hands and lit the foyer in a blaze of streaking light. Burgamond smiled assured of his victory. But nothing happened. The lightning dissipated into the ether leaving silence at its heel. The four cloaked figures stood unharmed.

"How did you..." Burgamond noticed the people before him were encased in globes of semi-transparent energy, protective shields that had warded off the attack. "Very clever," Burgamond said. "You are a proficient mage I see and..." he looked to the other men. "You have brought more magisters with you?"

The hood was thrown back and standing before Burgamond ever defiant and fearless was Fenris. "I am no magister, you fool," he spat. "You wanted a fight." His voice darkened and his eyes narrowed. "Now you have it."

An arrow whistled as the last words fell from the elf's lips. It landed squarely in the center of Burgamond's right shoulder. The nobleman screamed as it ripped through his flesh.

"Look familiar, you bastard?" Varric threw his hood back and cocked Bianca. "I have another waiting with your name on it."

Burgamond quickly took advantage of the delay and encased his body in an arcane fortress, the strongest of magical shields. It was believed to be impenetrable. "There are four of you and yet you cannot bring me down?" The nobleman scoffed. "Elf," he smiled with brash certainty. "I had pinned this little escapade on the magisters. You surprise me."

Fenris thought of Marian's abused body lying prostrate and incapacitated on stained rags in Gamlen's hovel. Even the dark and splotched marks seasoned by grime contrasted with the bruises on her body. Danarius had always pushed him to be more than a mere weapon. Magical liquid, lyrium, flowed through his body, against his lifeblood and the conflict had wrought physical hell. But with it had come the ability to enter the seen and unseen world as he commanded. Now, that abysmal gift would be used to its fullest.

_Lyrium... ghost me, _thought Fenris_. _He bowed his head and allowed the magical energy to flow freely through every vein. Burgamond continued to spill forth his threats and taunts, but Fenris no longer heard the sounds in the waking world. The Fade loomed in the distance. His arm reached out and entered. A silhouette, one that seemed to glow from the inside out was within his reach. He had never tried to breach an arcane shield, it was deemed impossible by mages. But their words and beliefs were not his and he would defy their supposed limitations. He was the master of his own body.

At first, there was resistance and he could not reach the throbbing energy at the center of the silhouette. "Marian," he whispered_._ Memories of her laughter filled his mind, gave him strength and in the face of life-threatening opposition he found the one thought that allowed him to penetrate the shield. "I miss your smile."

His hand reached into the lighted silhouette and found, at its core, the throbbing life. Fenris's thoughts turned murderous as shadowy tendrils entangled the silhouette and slowly enveloped it until there was nothing but darkness. When the distant view of the Fade dimmed, he looked down to see Burgamond's heart in his hand.

"That, I did for my Marian," Fenris said in a sickly voice, drunk with bloodlust. Burgamond's mouth readied to release its dying scream. "And this, I do for my pleasure." Fenris shoved the heart into Burgamond's mouth and forced it, with the aid of his gauntlet, down the man's throat. The body dropped to floor and landed at the elf's feet.

_Blessed are those who stand before_ _the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._ _Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just, _thought Fenris as he stared at the dead man's body.

"Peacekeeping I leave for priests," Fenris said and the door shut behind him. His companions were baffled by the offhand comment. But none of them dared, at that moment, to question his words.

* * *

><p>P.S.<p>

The story is not over. ;)


	27. Chapter 27: The Calm Before the Storm

As always, thanks to everyone reviewing, reading, alerting, favoriting and all that good stuff! I wanted to spend several more days on this, but I realized I would never get to the end at this rate. Thanks for your continued patience!

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><p><strong>Chapter 27: The Calm Before the Storm<strong>

Death was not a foreign concept to Merrill. During her nomadic life with the clan they had been attacked by various enemies throughout their travels. They killed when necessary and only as a last resort. She had never taken pleasure in seeing life fade away.

Burgamond's body lay near her feet, emptied of its heart. The steel blue eyes no longer held their spark; they were glassy and splattered with blood. Merrill found that she could not stop staring at his mouth. Inside, his heart lay at the back of his throat and from where she was standing it was partially visible.

The young Dalish woman backed away from the body. Sol noticed that the color in her face was fading.

"Merrill?" Sol asked. The reaction was one he had seen many times when supplying the sick with potions. "Are you feeling well?"

"No," Merrill forced out. She hovered in place and tried to focus on a single point in the room. Instinctively, her hand came to her mouth. "I need to go." Out of consideration for her friends, she sought a corner before losing her breakfast.

_Poor thing, _thought Sol_. When I first met her I was convinced she knitted and baked cookies in her spare time. Not cut her wrists and consort with demons. _Sol grabbed Merrill's cloak and covered Burgamond's body. "Why did Fenris leave?" He asked Varric. "I thought we were to look for the book and staff?"

Varric gestured to the door with his head. 'He's just getting some fresh air. Turning people's internal organs into external organs uses a lot of energy you know."

Sol was still trying to reconcile what he had seen. In the gallows, templars and mages were punished for their crimes, but never in this fashion. This was beyond anything that he had witnessed. "He really should come back inside. If anyone were to notice him..."

Varric cut in. "Do you want to go ask the elf with the killer instincts to come back in?" He shook his head. "No, I didn't think so. Fenris is smart enough to stay out of sight."

"Will you retrieve the amulet while I help Merrill?" Sol asked. The Dalish woman was struggling to undo the lid on her water skin. "She isn't taking this very well."

"Why do I get all the fun jobs?" Varric muttered. The dwarf uncovered Burgamond's body and leaned over his disturbing face. He picked at the chain with the tips of his gloved hand. Merrill had finally stopped retching only to start again when she noticed the amulet had chunks of meaty flesh smeared across it.

"Try not to think about it, Daisy." Varric called over his shoulder. Several of the larger pieces of offal dropped away during Varric's examination. One disgusted dwarf struggled to heed his own advice. "Yeah, try not to think about it." _How the hell do I get this thing clean? _Varric thought about using his handkerchief to wipe it down.

He searched the foyer for something that would help remove Burgamond's leftovers. On the far wall he noticed a vase of wildflowers perched on top of a small ornate table.

"That might work." Varric walked to the other side of the room with the amulet held away from his body like a pair of dirty underclothes. The flowers were discarded before he dropped the amulet in the vase of water.

The splash as the amulet sank drew Merrill's attention. "What are you doing, Varric?" she asked. "Why are the flowers on the floor? They were quite pretty."

"Daisy," Varric said in a long drawl. "We've just help kill one of the most powerful men in all of Thedas and you're worried about the flowers?"

The last remnants of Burgamond's blood and pulp floated to the surface. Varric ignored the floating sinew as he poured the contents of the vase onto the floor. A small puddle formed and the mysterious amulet slid to the center. The dwarf used a strong flower stem to salvage the jewelry. From his pocket he pulled a clean white handkerchief, which he used to polish the chain until it glistened. Once he was convinced nothing of Burgamond remained, Varric placed the amulet around his neck for safe keeping. He stood and faced the mages. A stubby finger pointed to the amulet.

"Did you notice the center of it? It looks like the night sky. Actually, it reminds me of that time I..." Varric shrugged. The thought had suddenly slipped from his mind. "I must have been drunk because I can't remember."

Sol handed Merrill his cloak to use as a towel to wipe her mouth. "Are we going to search for this staff and book?" The middle-aged mage rubbed his forehead. "Do we even know that they are here?"

"We should have one last look," Merrill whispered. The back of her throat still burned from the bile. "For Hawke."

"This is a huge mansion," Sol said and held out his hands. They were faced with the task of searching twenty rooms, plus an extensive cellar. The cellar had been their way into the house. It shared, like most of the mansions in Hightown, underground tunnels with Hawke's estate. "Burgamond was no fool. He would have hidden the items well and protected them with powerful wards. That's assuming they are even here and not sitting on a ship in Tevinter." The consequence of helping Marian and her companions was beginning to weigh on Sol. Not only was he a wanted apostate, but now he was an accessory to murder. "I say we leave while we can."

An inner voice tugged at Varric's thoughts. A vision filled his mind and he took it as inspiration. "We should search the study," Varric said in a definitive tone. "The book and staff will be in there."

Sol and Merrill eyed the dwarf with some skepticism. "Is this another gamble?" Sol asked. He was annoyed Varric was willing to delay their escape. "You may get life in the gallows but they will surely cut my head off if we are caught."

Varric offered no comment. In his mind, he could see the answer to their problem. The dwarf raced up the stairs and made for the study.

"That's..." Sol started to say.

"Odd," Merrill finished. "He didn't make a funny. Varric always jokes when things get serious."

The two mages chased after the dwarf. They found him standing in the middle of the study examining the floor. At the core of Varric's behavior, Sol sensed something was wrong. He readied his staff, in case the dwarf became a threat, though he found the thought ridiculous.

Varric felt compelled to remove the amulet from his neck and lay it in the center of the floor. "You might want to take a step back."

Before Merrill or Sol could inquire, a small flame erupted beneath the amulet and spiraled outwards. As the flame faded the amulet lifted into the air and white light blazed from the center. The companions were forced to cover their eyes. When it had settled, a door opened behind Burgamond's mahogany desk. The three companions could see a multitude of objects, including a large staff.

A thought entered Varric's mind and it insisted he look at the floor. The rogue was familiar with a variety of traps from the simple to complex. He examined every wooden board that stood between him and the hidden door and saw nothing of interest. But a small nagging voice insisted that he not dismiss the possibility that there was something more. On closer inspection, he noticed the wooden floorboards were slightly pitched. From experience, that usually meant a floor trap was in place. Only the most discerning eye would have noticed that there were three.

Merrill started towards the door. Her curiosity had been piqued.

"Stop!" Varric shouted. "There are traps. I need time to disarm them."

While Varric used his tools to render the traps inane, Sol pondered what he had just witnessed. _This could not have been some random guess. It is as if he is familiar with this room._

"Varric," Sol said in a calm even tone. "How did you know the amulet would open a hidden door, and how, for that matter, did you know there were more traps?"

"I..." Varric gave Sol a bewildered look. "The thought just occurred to me." A spring flew away from a poison trap and bounced across the room. Varric shrugged. "Call it intuition I guess."

Sol stared at the amulet on the floor. _Fenris stated that Burgamond gloated he had captured Marian's magic in the amulet and he could wield it. Could it be affecting Varric? Maybe I should try it._ The mage leaned over to grab the amulet, but before he could lay a finger on it, Varric had snatched it away.

"You can't touch it, Sol," Varric warned. He raised the amulet over his head and adjusted the chain so it would not catch his chest hair. "It will kill you."

Merrill and Sol exchanged a glance. They were becoming increasingly worried by Varric's odd comments.

"Why would it kill Sol and not you, Varric?" Merrill asked. "It doesn't make any sense."

"The combined power of Sol's and Hawke's magic would rip him apart," Varric said like a man who had studied the theories of magic all his life. The explanation was enough to convince Sol that the amulet was indeed having an effect on the dwarf. But whether it was a potential threat, he was uncertain. "It would do the same to you, Merrill, so don't touch it."

The dwarf rose from the ground and entered the hidden room. There, before him, lay an ornate book encrusted with jewels and engraved in Arcanum script. Beside it, propped against the wall was a staff twice the size of Varric. _Is everyone really tall in Tevinter? _Varric tugged on his earring. _Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever seen a really short mage_. _I guess if there is one, then that guy is shit out of luck_. The stave was made of silverite and around it twined two white refined lyrium vines. It reminded Varric of Fenris's markings. _Hmmmm_, _I guess you could cut a staff in half. _The vines separated at the top of the stave to form two perfect arches that encased a large crystal at the center. _Very pretty, _thought Varric_. If I didn't know what this thing did to Fenris I might keep it for a souvenir._

Merrill and Sol had started to grow impatient. They assumed it was not safe to enter until Varric told them otherwise.

"Can I look at the staff, Varric?" Merrill asked with a gleam in her eye. She turned to Sol and tugged on his robe. "I'm so excited."

Sol gave the woman a quizzical look. "You are... excited? Maybe you should reserve your excitement for later, preferably when you are alone and not in arms length of Fenris."

"Yeah, sure Daisy," Varric said. "Come on in."

The door to the hidden room slammed shut before Sol and Merrill could enter. Varric stood alone and in complete blackness.

The items fell to the floor. "Hey, get me out of here!" Varric yelled. His fingers brushed along the frame of the door desperately seeking a hidden panel or switch. There was nothing.

_Varric,_ a voice whispered. The dwarf frantically searched the room for the source of the sound. There was no one with him but he could feel a presence. It belonged to the same persistent force that had guided him to the study. Varric looked down at his chest. He could still see the small pinpricks of light in the center of the amulet, but they offered little in the way of illumination. _It is me, Marian._

"Hawke?" Varric sounded uncertain. "Where are you?"

He heard her chuckle. _I guess you could say I am in your thoughts_, Marian said and then for a mere second he believed he could see a vision of her smiling back at him. _My mind or soul or whatever you may call it, is inside the amulet around your neck._

Varric's nose wrinkled in protest of what he was being told. "So, you are inside this gaudy piece of jewelry?"

A hearty laugh rang through his mind. _Fenris called it gaudy too when Burgamond tried to intimidate him._ Varric could visualize Hawke assessing the amulet. _It is rather tasteless._

"I don't understand any of this, Hawke." Varric started to pace in what little space he had available. "I can hear you as if you are in the room speaking with me. But you're in my mind right?" He pointed to the ground. "Not standing here?"

_Varric,_ Marian said in a half mocking tone. _If I was standing in this room don't you think you could touch me?_

Just to be certain, Varric put his arms out and searched for another warm body. He was disappointed to find books and a staff for company.

"You'd better explain this, Hawke before I'm tempted to put a bolt through my head and end this insanity," Varric said. "I don't want to end up eating nothing but soup served by a Chantry sister like my brother, Bartrand."

_Varric, you are not insane, at least no more than usual, but right now, time is wasting and I need your help. _He felt the warmth of Hawke's reassurance wash over him.

"You are going to have to do better than that, Hawke," Varric said and then shook his head. "I mean, all I have to go on is a voice in my head that's not mine!"

_This is going to have to brief and you do not need to keep talking aloud. I can hear your thoughts_, Marian began to say.

Varric interrupted with a snort. "Oh well, even better."

_Alright, Varric at least give me a chance to explain, _Marian soothed_. _Varric had a sudden image of the two of them sitting in the Hanged Man drinking a pint together. It put him at ease._ Burgamond bled me and soaked the amulet in my blood. He then cut his own body and mixed our blood together. It gave him the ability to use my magic. But, unbeknownst to him, when he took my magic, he also extracted my conscious mind._

_So, you've what... been telling him what a naughty man he is this whole time? _Varric took a sip of his imagined ale. _This isn't helping, Hawke._

He was starting to see Marian more clearly in his mind and sense her feelings as if they were his own. But it was a vague image, like looking through a thick fog and the feelings were not well defined.

Marian stood, waving his comment away and then she smiled. _No. Burgamond wasn't aware that he had trapped more than my magic in this accursed amulet. I never spoke to him or tried to sway his thoughts. I wanted to know his plans, understand what he was trying to accomplish without alerting him to my presence._

_What did you learn?_ Varric asked. He watched a fuzzy image of Marian pace. _I used every contact, thief, merchant and prostitute from here to Wildervale and I only managed a snippet of information here and there. That man was closed tighter than a Chantry sister's legs._

Varric saw Marian's face lighten briefly but it twisted into a scowl and turned pensive. _The Knight-Commander and Burgamond were working together. Meredith wanted me dead, and in return, she was going to help Burgamond become viscount._

_The Knight-Commander? _Varric repeated in a shrill voice. He choked on his imaginary ale. _Hawke, that's... I'm not sure what to think._ _I know she's crazy, but murder? _

_Varric, I was her greatest opposition and a constant pain in her petunia,_ Marian insisted. _Meredith was aware that the nobles favored me for the position and she was also aware that she would not be able to maintain her control over the city forever._

_So, she thought killing you and making Burgamond viscount was a good solution?_

In their combined minds, Marian took a seat next to Varric and grabbed her ale._ No, he thought it was a good solution, and like any businessman worth his weight in gold, he managed to sell the idea. The nobles would have been appeased and Meredith would have a puppet sitting in the seat. Of course, Burgamond had every intention of blackmailing her after he was appointed._

_Messing with templars? That's a rather dangerous game even for the likes of him, Hawke._

_He was a dangerous man, _Marian said and she took a drink of her ale_. He had plans to aid Tevinter and eventually take over Kirkwall if the opportunity presented itself, which, with the help of the magisters, he likely would have been successful._

_Magisters? _Varric sounded surprised._ What the hell does the Imperium have to do with this?_

_Oh the stories I have for you, Varric_, Marian said with a grin. _But there isn't time. We need to get this stuff out of here before we are discovered. _Varric could see, in his mind, Marian inspecting the hidden room. _Speaking of magisters, what did you do with Lavintus?_

The puzzled look on the dwarf's face confirmed that he was clueless. _What magister? There was no one here when we broke in._

Marian tapped her fingers against her lips. _Magister Lavintus was here before Burgamond left for Chantry service. I listened to their pathetic banter and had to endure the lascivious stares and words of an old fat man that wanted Burgamond and Fenris in his boudoir... most likely at the same time. _Varric saw Hawke shiver and felt a bit of her disgust ripple through his body_. It was... trying._

_Hawke. _Varric's voice was hoarse and cracked from a mixture of stress and worry. _I don't know what to make of all of this. How do I know this isn't some trick of Burgamond's? I mean, you could be a demon for all I know. Hearing voices in your head isn't normal. Next thing you know I'll be eating my servants just like Bartrand did._

_You don't have any servants, Varric_, Marian stated and then gave him a cheeky grin_. Unless you think the barmaid is one._

_That's a minor detail._

In his mind, Marian leaned over and grasped his hand and he felt it. _Varric, we have been friends for years._ Her breath wavered as if fighting back upset. _There is very little I can do to convince you other than speak the truth. But I ask you to trust me now._ She caught his eyes with her deep, loving stare. _This is the hour I need your friendship most._

_I don't have a problem with the stuff you're telling me, Hawke._ Varric knew there had to be evidence in the room to prove Meredith's involvement. _But I get the feeling there is something else you want from me._

An image of Marian's face welling with tears entered Varric's mind. _I want to take possession of your body so I can ensure everyone's safety. Already my mistakes have cost lives. _Her hand quickly brushed away the watering in her eyes_._ _Orana, that poor girl was ripped to shreds and Fenris... Maker, _she whispered_. Burgamond almost had him._

_What? Wait. You want to do what?_ Varric looked upwards towards his head. _You're talking to the wrong guy. If that truly is you Hawke then you know Bianca and I are quite capable of handling this situation._

_Varric, I believe that Lavintus may still be here. He is a very powerful magister, one that is probably lurking around the mansion waiting for the right moment to strike. _Varric felt her apprehension course through his body_. He is desperate to get his hands, _she gestured to the items in the hidden room_, on these things._

But Varric could not be swayed. Voices in his head, even a friend's, reminded him of Bartrand and he was too afraid that he may somehow end up just like his brother if Hawke were allowed to posses his body.

_I think Sol, Merrill and I can manage, and if not, I'm sure those big elf ears outside will hear the battle. Your knight in dark armor will come to our rescue,_ Varric stated without remorse. A vision of Marian's smile fleeted through his mind. Mentioning Fenris's name had evoked emotions in her that he was now forced to share, whether he wanted to or not. He rolled his eyes. _So there's no need to possess the dwarf._

Marian squeezed his hand. _I understand._ And the image of her vanished. Several times Varric called her name but she never reappeared. The hidden door opened to reveal a concerned Merrill and Sol staring back.

"Varric?" Sol said with concern. He noticed the dwarf appeared to be dazed and somewhat confused. "What happened?"

The fog from his mind cleared. "It's nothing," Varric said. "We will talk about it once we're out of Kirkwall. Here," he handed Sol the book and the staff and Merrill Danarius's notes and the letters from Meredith. "Have you two heard any strange noises in the mansion since I was in there?"

"No, Varric," Merrill simply stated. She quirked an eyebrow. "The only thing strange in this mansion is you at the moment."

Varric stepped out of the room and into the light of the study. The fresh air was invigorating after being shut in a shoebox sized space. "Look, I already told you that I will explain it later," Varric reiterated. "Right now, we need to get the hell out of here."

The sound of metal on metal focused the companion's attention on the window. Sol saw Fenris fighting three templars and two city guards in the courtyard. In the distance, the Knight-Commander, Knight-Captain, Aveline and a host of guardsman were coming to help.

"Shit," Sol said and he began to panic. "They have found Fenris."

Merrill looked in time to see Aveline and the Knight-Commander arguing over what she believed to be Fenris. Several templars and city guardsman were holding him to the ground and the two women were pointing at him.

"He stopped fighting," Merrill said. She stood on the tips of her toes to get a better look. Sol grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her down out of view. "Do you think they know he killed Burgamond?"

Sol raised his hands to the air. "Yes! And can you guess where they are coming next, Merrill?"

"Oh," Merrill said as realization finally hit. "We should leave then."

Varric had climbed onto a stool. "Wait..." He gave a sidelong glance to an old fat man in robes. "Is he a mage, Sol?"

"What? Why are you asking me this?" Sol said with alarm in his voice. "We need to leave, now!"

Varric huffed and gave the mage a disapproving once over with his eyes. "It's important. Just tell me, then I promise we will leave."

Sol steadied his nerves long enough to study the man standing behind the Knight- Commander with a scrupulous eye. "Yes, well, considering how he is dressed I would say he is a mage, but not from Kirkwall. Those robes are unusual."

"Damn it," Varric's jaw clenched. He closed his eyes and thought about what Hawke had told him concerning Lavintus. "She was right."

Sol turned away from the window and peered down at Varric. "What are you talking about, Varric?" he asked and then he waved the comment away. "Actually, it doesn't matter. We leave now or end up in the gallows with Fenris."

_Varric,_ Marian said. _Please, we have to help Fenris. Lavintus knew about Meredith's involvement with Burgamond. He must have seen you enter the mansion and kill him. _She began to plead_. Meredith will give him to Lavintus. _Her voice wavered with each word_. He will return to be a slave._

_Hawke, I'm a dwarf and dwarves can't wield magic_, Varric studied his feet. Every painful emotion of Marian's he felt. _Even if you possess me it's just us and Bianca against the city guard and a big host of templars._

Varric saw a clever smile form on Hawke's lips. _No, Varric. You are wrong. If I possess you, I can wield my magic through you._

_Hawke, won't that make me an abomination?_ Varric said in a tone that suggested she had missed the obvious. _Besides, you're just one mage and you're stuck in an amulet. Is it comfortable in there? I've been wondering that since you started talking to me._

_I am in two worlds right now, the mortal and the Fade and my consciousness, just like when I dream, can travel easily between them. I fully understand Feynriel's gift now_. He heard her laugh and saw her smile grow. _This amulet was made to magnify the connection with the Fade. Every spell I cast will be amplified. _A wicked grin replaced her smile_. No mage has ever had this much power._

_So... how does it work? Is it painful? _Varric's eyes widened._ Because if it's painful I'll have to think about it._

Through Varric's eyes, Marian stared unending at the small elven form in the distance. Varric felt all of her emotions at once. Deep love, affection, pain for what he had endured in the past, the battle between the good uses of magic and what had been used to torture her lover, and finally, through her nonexistent yet thoughtful tears, pure and simple love; the kind that took your breath away. Varric had experienced it once and that one feeling, although fleeting, that she sought to bury from his thoughts, turned his heart and he accepted her offer.

_Possess me Hawke,_ Varric said in earnest. _Make me your vessel and I'll get you back to that broody moody elf of yours._

Her shoulders shook from overjoyed laughter. _I will not let you down, Varric. _A long pause lingered. _Thank you, _she declared. _Thank you, my friend,_ and her words ended in a failing whisper.

Varric shook his head. _I guess this will all make sense at some point and if it doesn't I'm going to put it down to that stuff I smoked outside Gamlen's hovel. _Marian gave Varric a mental hug_. Alright, stop that. What do you want me to do?_

_All I needed was your permission, _Marian said, and her thoughts became clear to Varric as if they were his own. Through the fog, Marian emerged, a clear and crisp image. At first, Varric was disoriented, but it soon passed. _Relax, Varric and allow me to help._

The dwarf conjured an image of his favorite chair, his pipe and a mountain-sized mug of ale. He propped his stubby legs up on his footstool and leaned back.

_Alright, let's do this._ Varric took a drag of his pipe. _This better be some show Hawke or I'll make you fat, hairy in strange places, and smell like nug shit in my next story. _

Varric felt his head give a cocky shake and he watched his arms stretch high into the air. But he was not in control.

_When have I ever failed to entertain?_


	28. Chapter 28: We Think Alike

This chapter! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! This was, without a doubt, the hardest chapter to write. I hope the hard work put into it makes sense. Ah well, I tried. Special thanks to T.I.M for mentioning the story of Bianca and Varric. As always, thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, alerting and for your favorites! It's never taken for granted. Try to enjoy. :D Next chapter will not be far behind.

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><p><strong>Chapter 28<strong>: Are You Thinking What I am Thinking?

A possessed Varric had convinced Sol and Merrill to leave Burgamond's estate via the cellar. Their final destination was Lowtown, specifically Petrice's old safe house, which had access to the underground warrens. Together, they would navigate through the labyrinth and reach the Wounded Coast, where Anders, Isabela, Gamlen and Marian's body were located.

_Do you think they will make it to Petrice's unharmed, Varric? _Marian asked. The cellar door was currently under a large stack of crates in an effort to keep the escape route hidden. _If Lavintus knows you came in through the cellar he may have told Meredith. She could have templars searching for them._

_Even if that screwy mage said something, Meredith doesn't know their destination, Hawke_. A disturbing image of Sol and Merrill being cut down by dozens of templars obstructed Varric's view. It had come from Marian's thoughts. _So, if I can see your thoughts, Hawke, does that mean you can see mine? And stop worrying so much. _

_Unfortunately, yes. I have been burdened with images of busty dwarven girls for the last five minutes._ Marian was certain that visions of bouncing, hairy breasts would haunt her for the rest of her days. She tried to drown it out with her own less harrowing thoughts.

Varric's imagined lip curled. _You can bitch about the dwarven girls all you want. That's just my male mind doing what it does best. But it's got to be better than seeing Fenris naked. _Varric desperately tried to shake off the scene of Hawke and Fenris writhing around in a big four poster bed. _Maker, please stop imagining what you are going to do once you are in your own body, Hawke. That's just... unnatural. _

_Varric. _Marian's projected face turned beet red. _It is extremely natural and I apologize. It has been some time since I have seen him or... touched him. _

Varric understood that the thoughts could not be controlled. People were not meant to be possessed. If what he was experiencing was similar to Anders' possession, then he understood why the mage was partially insane. It was intriguing to see first hand what someone felt, but it was also highly invasive and he struggled to keep his mind focused on less personal matters.

_Could you make sure the next thought doesn't involve all his Elven glory and your mouth? Thank you._

_I am ignoring you now, Varric._

Marian studied the dwarven body she inhabited. She lifted Varric's arms and examined his small fingers. They were meaty, but dexterous from wielding Bianca. The word 'Bianca' stirred Varric's memories. The one story he had vowed to never tell played out before Marian and she was saddened his secret had been exposed.

_Forgive me, Varric. _The image of Marian turned away; she was ashamed. _That was unintentional. I would never pry._

The dwarf took a sip of his fictional ale, and when the tankard dropped to the table, she heard a deep sigh resonate from his chest. _It's alright, Hawke. I can see images of your past as well, and I am pretty sure these were things you never intended to share._

_Hmph, even our memories are no longer private. _ Marian fidgeted. She tried not to think about what was being revealed to Varric. _Please reassure me that you won't be telling tales of your possession to the upstanding and trustworthy patrons at the Hanged Man._

_No, Hawke, I won't, _Varric responded in a solemn voice. While Marian had been reliving the story of Bianca, her memories had presented themselves. He found that he only need think of a name, and what Marian remembered of that person was available for him to see. It was not a conscious act, and though there were many things Varric had always wanted to know about Marian, finding the answers without her admittance somehow felt dirty.

The woman had a beautiful, but pained past. Malcolm Hawke was not what Varric had expected. Maybe his judgment had been colored by the crazy blood mages running around Kirkwall. There were similarities between Marian's father and Anders, but where Anders was preachy, overbearing and judgmental, Malcolm Hawke had been a level-headed, strong and capable mage. Varric also, from what he could hear in the memories, found Marian's father to be smooth with the ladies.

While considering whether Malcolm was as suave and silver tongued as he, Varric had inadvertently recalled Hawke's memories concerning their friendship. What the dwarf learned was so shocking he blushed, which was the rarest of events.

_You... uh... _He rolled his hand forward encouraging the words to spill out_. Hawke, you were infatuated with me before you met the elf?_

_Damn it, Varric! _Marian rolled her eyes. It was a memory she had buried long ago. There was a charm to Varric that she loved and he had always been a true friend even in the days when she was little more than a mage for hire. Her feelings for him had, at one point, stretched to flirting, but she never acted on the impulse. _That seems like a lifetime ago. Well... things have changed now_. The discomfort in her voice was apparent.

The dwarf winked at Marian. _I'm flattered, Hawke. Wish I had known sooner._

_Please stop snooping through my memories, Varric, _she said to the grinning dwarf. _That reminds me. I noticed that when you hear my name you always think of my hips before my face. Do you really watch my backside so closely when we are together? Honestly, dwarf, you had better hope Fenris does not notice. _

_I hate to tell you, but the men and Isabela like to watch your hips, uh… sway... when we follow you around on a mission_. _It relieves the boredom, _Varric said, and finished with an over familiar smirk. Seeing the almighty Hawke squirm under his scrutiny was a delight. But he knew not to push it too far. _The elf practically lives there. I've never seen a man so mesmerized by the female body._

_Fenris has my permission to stare. You and the others do not_. Marian scolded, but then a feminine smile emerged. _All the same, disrespectfulness aside, it is quite flattering._

Varric heeded the warning in her voice_. You like the attention, just admit it._

_If we are done discussing my anatomy I suggest we concentrate on saving Fenris from yet another life of servitude, _Marian assessed the number of templars and guardsman outside. There were dozens. _That must be the bulk of the templars from the gallows. I never knew so many attended Chantry service. They are a faithful bunch._

_They are the strong arm of the Chantry, Hawke. To be faithful you have to be devout. _Varric shrugged._ I don't favor their options. It must be a hard choice to decide if you'd rather be in the gallows listening to a bunch of mages bitch or in the Chantry listening to a droning cleric bitch about mages. _

_Varric, I do believe that was the most profound thing you have ever said to me._

The dwarf smiled. _Now, Hawk, let's not get carried away. You should know by now that I am a fountain of useless information. _

_Hence my surprise when you did not mention ale, gambling or sex in the same sentence._ Marian continued to take quick peeks out of the window. Aveline and the Knight-Commander were still arguing. _I suspect our guard captain is insistent she head the investigation into the murder of Burgamond. I have never seen Aveline so red in the face._

_It should be Aveline who locks us away, _Varric chuckled_. She's been trying to find a reason to arrest me for years. Now, she actually has one and the Knight-Commander is ruining all of her fun. _Varric studied the Knight-Commander and Aveline. _Say, Hawke. Who do you think would win in a fight, Aveline or Meredith?_

_Are you really asking me this question right now, Varric? _Marian smiled brightly. Varric loved it when her face lit up like a candle. He had missed it. _Well, I would have to support Aveline of course, but to be honest, I am not sure who would win. They are both... _She hesitated …_stout._

_Oh, why do you even try and hide it, Hawke? I can see what you are thinking! _Varric laughed.

"_Captain man_-_hands," _they said in unison and they laughed in spite of their dire predicament.

Marian mentally changed into her favorite robes. They had been her father's, the ones he had worn as a disguise to meet with her mother at an Orlesian masked ball. After that night, Malcolm and Leandra could not bear to be separated, and ran away to start a new life.

_So, that's where the robes come from, your father, _thought Varric as he lit his pipe. Several smoke rings rose into the air after the long drag. _I always wondered. You never spoke of it._

Marian looked to Fenris. _There are and were memories I wished to remain untainted by potential offhand comments, the history of my father's robe being one. _

Varric was aware that the tie to her favorite robes had been wrapped around the elf's gauntlet for many years, since their first night together. It had been a symbolic promise that would have been fulfilled if it had not been for Burgamond.

_He removed the tie. Is he that angry with me? I had hoped…_

_No, I think the elf forgave you, _Varric insisted_._ He wanted Marian to know that Fenris still loved her in case they died._ He cut off a piece of that shocking white hair of his and tied it around your wrist. I never knew he had... feelings._

Tears welled in her eyes, but she bit them back in an effort to remain focused. Varric felt his chest exhale._ I should test my magic through your body Varric. This may feel... a bit odd, but I assure you it will not be painful_

_If you singe one hair off of my chest, Hawke... _

Marian ran her hand over the luxurious mat of ginger hair_. It's really soft. _She grabbed a small handful and gently tugged. _I thought it would be wiry._

_Softer than you imagined? _He grinned and conjured one of her infatuated memories. _I guess what the elf doesn't know won't kill him._

_No, but if he finds out it might kill you._

_Point taken. Are you going to...?_

Varric watched as two fireballs physically sprouted from the palms of his hands. They thrummed like the beat of a heart and in them he felt life. _This may sound weird, but it feels like the fire wants to be free. _

Marian lifted a hand until the fire was level with Varric's eyes. They studied it together. _Fire is alive. It breathes, consumes and multiplies, just like people. _She stifled the air and the flame began to flicker and fade. _You can never fully control it. _The palm of Varric's hand closed only to open again. A fireball flew upwards and burst into the air. _It is unpredictable._

_So that's what it feels like to wield magic? _Varric felt the raw uninhibited power course through his body. _It's potent stuff_.

_The greatest downfall of a mage is to forget that with this gift, comes responsibility. _Marian threw the fireballs at a portrait of Burgamond. _This is but a taste, Varric, and that is why mages should be taught not to fear their talent. It needs to be wielded with care. _

_I wish Isabela would learn that about her breasts. One of these days she is going to poke one or both of my eyes out._

Marian tried to keep a straight face. Visions of two breasts that would make an ogre of either gender proud were trying to escape the pirate's corset. _Varric, would it be possible for you to think of something else besides Isabela's melons? They are rather distracting._

_Sorry, Hawke. I'll concentrate on my ale or boots, something boring. _Varric studied the froth at the top of his imaginary tankard. _To be honest,_ _this isn't a bad view._

_Whatever works, Varric. _Marian was beginning to mentally prepare for the battle ahead_. My casting will keep my thoughts in a destructively noble place._

_Good, because unlike you and Isabela, I never wanted to know the color of his underclothes or how far down those markings go_. Varric's nose wrinkled in disgust as he tried not to relive Marian's vivid bedroom scene. The sound of music attracted his attention. _You're remembering some Ferelden song with quite a hefty beat. Why? _

Marian closed her eyes and concentrated on finding a rhythm. _Magic has a beat, Varric. The best of mages understand the connection between nature and rhythm. _Memories of father/daughter dance lessons played out for Varric._ My father taught me dance and martial skill so my movements would become fluid and timed, but most importantly, controlled. _

_I know you use those moves to fry people to a crisp, but it's kind of relaxing to watch. _The memory faded to black. It was replaced with a vision of Marian and Fenris dancing by candlelight in his mansion. _So, the elf really did dance all day in that gigantic house._

Marian snuffed the memory before it had a chance to grow. _Ahem, moving on. _

The drumbeat began again. This time Malcolm Hawke commanded the conscious spotlight.

_So, you visualize your father when you fight? _Varric found it peculiar_. Usually, I look for the guy with the nicest clothes and think about how much coin he has in his purse. Looting bodies does it for me every time._

_They are memories of me watching my father practice his skills, seeing a master in training. _There was determination and pride in Marian's face. _He was powerful beyond the reckoning of any templar's worst nightmare. The mages that I have seen cast in Kirkwall are mere amateurs compared to my father and... _She raised a cocky eyebrow. …_his daughter._

Varric flipped an imaginary sovereign through his fingers while he considered Marian's words_. _She was not a braggart by nature. But before a fight, he had noticed that she took on a different persona. A leader emerged, ready to give orders and make quick decisions, the kind that could cost a life of a companion. This responsibility required confidence and nerves of steel. Varric would never have imagined the source of Hawke's determination came from visions of her father fighting.

_You feel confident, Hawke?_

_Yes, _she answered without hesitation_. The amount of power I am about to unleash will test my every skill, Varric, but I believe I can do this._

_Just keep in mind that my body is on loan. I want to look as handsome as I do now when you're done with it._

_I promise, not a scratch, Varric, _she assured_. _Marian physically placed Varric's black robe over his body. _Now for the final touches_. A portion of Sol's discarded robe was cut and fashioned into a mask and bandana. She used the cloth to cover Varric's eyes and hair.

Varric admired his disguise in the foyer mirror. _I had my doubts, Hawke, but you made me look intimidating. You know, more so than usual._

_I did it to hide your identity not to make you look wicked or sexy, Marian rolled her eyes. Do you really think a bit of black clothing and a mask has made you mysterious and alluring to the ladies? _

Varric quirked a teasing eyebrow_. Does that do it for you, Hawke? _He asked in a deep, flirtatious whisper_. _When her face turned sour he quickly put her at ease_. I'm just shitting you. _He grinned_. It's nice to know the elf came second._

_Are you ever going to let this go, Varric? _Marian straightened the bandana to make certain it covered all of his hair. _I was lonely and desperate._

_Ouch! _Varric let out a hearty chuckle._ I suppose I deserved that. _He stared at his complexion in the mirror_. They are still going to know it is me. Why are we even bothering?_

Marian gave the body she possessed one last look. Varric was completely disguised and without Bianca on his back, he could not be positively identified_. It is part of a bigger plan._

_Either way, it's a good look for me. _Varric rubbed his imaginary bristles_. You ready, Hawke?_

_I know you would like me to say something very dramatic right now, probably something along the lines of: 'I was born ready' or 'they won't know what hit them,' but I think an affirmative will have to suffice, _Marian said_. I will say this: when this is over we are going to get very drunk. I want to wake up in an alleyway with you on one side and Fenris on the other._

_Did I ever tell you that you are one classy bitch, Hawke? _Varric laughed at her reaction. It was odd for him to watch his face contort in the mirror without controlling it. _Hawke… _His tone changed to serious_. I should probably say something meaningful but…_

_We are not going to die, Varric. _Marian made his face look confident in the mirror. _Varric Tethras, mage extraordinaire is going to redefine history._

_Damn, I love you Hawke._

_I know, my furry little friend_. She smiled_. And I, you._


	29. Chapter 29: Redefining History

**Translations:**

**Hic sum:** here I am

**Te Amo:** I love you

**Mea anima est cum te:** My heart is with you

**Chapter 29: **My magic should serve that which is best in me, not that which is most base_._

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><p>Marian opened the door to Burgamond's mansion and stepped forth.A group of men, huddled in a small circle, were the first to notice the dwarf disguised in black. They pointed and the movement drew the attention of others. Knight-Captain Cullen, who had been listening to the arguments of his commanding officer and the guard captain, stepped forward.<p>

"Dwarf, state your business." Cullen's booming voice rose above the quarrelsome Meredith and Aveline. The crowd that had assembled grew quiet. "Who are you?"

_So that is why you disguised me, _Varric thought_. They can't prove a thing unless they see my face._

_Exactly. _The image of Marian smiled_. The only person who can testify against you is Lavintus. Even Meredith is not foolish enough to use a magister of the Imperium as an eye witness._

Knight-Commander Meredith pointed at Varric. "The Knight-Captain asked you a question, dwarf. I advise you to answer." When Varric did not speak the templars and their leader began to grow restless. Meredith's eyes narrowed. "You are friends with the elf are you not?"

Marian observed Fenris. Two templars held him to the ground with the side of his face planted firmly against the cobblestones. The markings on his body were lit. To see him forced into such a submissive position drove her to rage.

_He is in pain, _Marian cringed_. Their touch is too harsh._

_I hate to point out the obvious, Hawke, but we need to address the source of the problem, namely the Knight-Commander. I think she wants to hurt me... I mean us._

A haunting female voice resounded throughout the courtyard and it stated above all others: "I give you one chance to release him. Let us walk away unhindered and I will spare your men my wrath, Meredtih."

_Why did I just sound like a creepy female version of that thing inside of Anders? _Varric had risen from his imaginary chair. He approached Marian. _How did you do it and can you do it again? It would be a great party trick._

_I am in the Fade as well as the waking world, _Marian said._ My voice has to pass through the veil before it reaches the mortal world. It is an echo within an echo._

Varric quirked an eyebrow. _Yeah, okay... I'll take your word for it. _He fiddled with his earring and then shook his head. _To be honest, I've never met a mage that could give a straight answer. Can you imagine what a party with a bunch of mages would be like? I can just see it now._

_Mage one says to mage two: Do you want a drink?_

_Mage two says: Is it tainted? _

_Then the sexy female mage says to handsome man mage: Nice staff._

_Man mage can't help but try and impress the lady and answers: Thanks, I carved it from the mystical bark that grows only in the ass crack of an Ogre._

_Then before you know it someone has brought in their pet abomination and the party really gets started._

Marian's laughter filled Varric's head_. And I suppose dwarves always have riveting conversations?_

_Come to think of it, dwarves are probably worse. We tend to bitch like a bunch of old ladies when we get together_. Varric smiled._ And compare beards, like a bunch of old ladies with facial hair. So, you can imagine how left out of that conversation I feel._

_Even without the beard you are still manly to me, _Marian winked at Varric. _Just look at that chest hair._

Varric rubbed his chin and considered Marian_. You know, Hawke. When this is all over you can see me naked if you want. I won't tell the elf._

_Varric!_

_Hey, I didn't say you could touch_, Varric laughed when her face turned red_. I'd make you pay for the privilege._

The Knight-Commander and her people contemplated the strange female voice. Meredith had heard similar voices before, but only from abominations, and none of them had ever been a dwarf. Dwarves do not dream like humans and elves and because of this difference it is commonly believed that they can never become possessed. But Meredith knew otherwise. She had heard the odd story of a dwarf being dragged into the Fade, which meant a connection did exist, otherwise they would not be able to enter at all.

"For Maker's sake, if that is you Varric," Aveline said. "Surrender peacefully before she has you killed."

Varric's eyes had not moved from Meredith's. The female voice plainly stated: "I will rain down the forces of the heavens upon you and raze your army with the might of stone. I will show no mercy. Release the elf!"

_Nice Hawke. It sounds like something out of the Chant of Light, _Varric thought.

_I am appealing to their devout side, _Marian replied_. _

_Now that you have pissed off the Knight-Commander and left no room for compromise, _Varric mumbled under his breath_, you're going to have to show your hand, Hawke. _

The music started with the simple beat of one drum. Marian closed her eyes and concentrated. Varric could feel the energy building in his body. The drumbeat became stronger and the power grew, but Marian restrained it and waited.

The men holding Fenris had allowed him to stand. Varric's behavior and the odd voice had him baffled, more so than usual. The dwarf would either be arrested or killed.

Aveline moved away from the Knight-Commander to stand with Fenris. "I cannot believe you killed Burgamond and now..." she held out her hand towards Varric. "He is going to get himself killed."

"I have no idea what that insane dwarf is doing," Fenris said and shrugged his shoulders. "Unless he has a small army hidden in his boots he is going to die."

Aveline grinned at the imagery of millions of tiny dwarves hidden in Varric's boots wielding crossbows. "Why is he tapping his foot and why does he sound so odd?"

"The voice puzzles me. No doubt it is some trickery." Fenris watched the dwarven boot tap in time to an invisible beat. _Marian did the same during battle. Why would Varric mimic her and now?_ He sighed. _I knew he was insane. _

Meredith had considered the dwarf and his outlandish statements. "You are clearly delusional or possessed, maybe both. We shall find out which it is." She gestured to two of her men. "Take him to the gallows and search the house for the cellar entrance."

_Lavintus did see you enter through the cellar. _Marian said to Varric_. I thought you were a better rogue than that. I'm so disappointed._

_This is coming from a woman who managed to get locked in an amulet and then had to possess a dwarf to try and save her boyfriend. _Varric kept his eye fixed on the templars. They were nearing his position at an alarming rate. _Shouldn't you do something?_

_Let's have some fun, Varric. _

Marian waited until the two templars were almost within reach. She dropped Varric's body down quickly onto one knee and hit the ground with his fist. The telekinetic burst hurled the two templars away at an amazing speed. In the aftermath, a large dust cloud arose. When it cleared, Marian and Varric, noted that every templar and guardsman, including Meredith and Aveline, had taken a step backwards. Only one person had stood their ground: Fenris. He was studying his dwarven friend.

_What is he doing? _Varric thought.

_He is trying to decide whether he should kill you or not_," Marian answered. _You're a dwarf... wielding magic... You know how much he hates abominations, even small ones._

_Uh, Hawke... he is going for his sword. _Varric looked around. _And so are the other nice people you managed to intimidate._

Marian flailed Varric's arms about and yelled to Fenris: "Mea anima est cum te," The elf let his sword fall to his side. His eyes had widened and his firm stance had faltered. "Te Amo, Fenris."

The mental image of Varric ran his hands down his face like melting butter. _You just told the elf that my heart is with him and that I love him! If there was any chance he was going to reconsider chopping us into small pieces you have ruined it and embarrassed me in my dying hour!_

_Stop being so dramatic, Varric. I did it to make him think, besides, you should be thankful I spoke in Arcanum. _She lifted the amulet away from Varric's chest and pointed at it. "Hic sum."

Magister Lavintus, who had been standing impatiently behind the elf, grimaced. "And they claim I have unusual tastes."

_Do you think Fenris will believe you... me? _Varric asked.

Marian smiled at the sight of her lover. She had missed Fenris_. He is sheathing his sword so perhaps._

_You fear him more than the templars?_

_He breached an arcane shield. No mage has ever accomplished such a feat. So, yes, right now I fear him. Don't you?_

_I don't like to think about it, Hawke. _Varric heard Meredith and Cullen exchange fierce whispers. Their men were talking amongst each other trying to reconcile what they had witnessed.

Marian raised Varric's hands upwards to the heavens and magical power began to course through his body. It was raw and vicious but glorious to feel.

Varric's eyes fixed on Meredith. They did not stray or waver and in them could be seen ardent determination. "Marian Hawke sends her regards, Knight-Commander."

"It can't be..." Aveline whispered to Fenris. "Could it?"

Fenris had cocked his head to the side. _My heart is with you_, he thought_. Those words of endearment I have only spoken to Marian in private. Varric could not possibly know that. _The amulet dangling around Varric's neck caught his eye. _The strange voice coming from him... it is odd but female. How can she be in the amulet?_ Fenris sighed. _I hate magic._

Through Varric's fingertips, fire, ice, lightning and wind shot upwards. Menacing clouds rolled overhead and gathered to form a foreboding sky. Against the darkness lightning tendrils stretched across the empty expanse, and after, deep resonating thunder followed.

"Kill him!" Meredith yelled. She drew her sword and pointed it at Varric. "Stop the abomination before it destroys the city!"

_Well, Hawke, _Varric said in an edgy voice_. That little demonstration sure didn't help matters. Either you are some sort of Maker born again woman or we are about to die._

_Have faith, Varric._

_Oh the irony of that statement, Hawke! _

The templars charged forwards. Varric's body remained still and his stance did not falter even as the multitude neared. With a stomp of his foot, the ground quaked and the violent tremors brought the templars to their knees. Meredith, with a wave of her sword, ordered another company of her men to attack. Varric's arms moved forwards as if he were mimicking the rise of a wave. From his hands, two clouds of ice rushed outwards and caked the ground. The armored templars lost their footing. They rolled like marbles across the thick ice.

Varric's laughter filled Marian's thoughts_. They landed flat on their asses. Oh that had to hurt_, he continued to chuckle_. Can you do that again?_

Marian looked to her right. A line of templar archers were taking aim. _We have bigger problems, Varric. _It was then an image of Malcolm Hawke appeared. Varric studied the memory of Marian's father. He was extremely tall, muscular, intimidating, but in his eyes rested wisdom and compassion. There was an unmistakable resemblance between father and daughter, especially when they both smiled. _Ah there we go, _thought Varric_. Now we have two cheeky mages._

Marian and Malcolm began to move in fluid graceful motions; they mirrored each other. To the untrained eye it would seem they were performing a complicated dance routine, but Varric recognized it from years of fighting with Marian. It was her magical stances and martial skill blended into one.

Varric's physical body leapt from the ground and did a half turn in mid-air to face the archers. His right hand balled into a fist and his arm quickly rushed upwards at a ninety degree angle. The movement created a thick wall of ice. The arrows that had been close to raining down on Varric's head ricocheted off of the frozen barrier.

_I am incredible, _Varric thought as he leaned back into his chair. A self satisfied grin played on his lips. Marian and Malcolm rolled their eyes. _Tell me you don't find me sexy right now, Hawke._

_Meredith has ordered all of her people to charge and you are wondering if I fancy you right now, _Hawke thought to Varric_. I see I am going to need to be more... forceful with these damnable templars.._

The vision of Marian brought forth a ball of fire and from it she created a fiery whip. The whip manifested into Varric's hand. As the templars converged from all directions towards his position, the whip snapped in the air and when it hit the ground a ring of fire encircled Varric. The templars realized they could not advance unless they were willing to be burnt.

_I have never seen you cast that before, _Varric thought_. _

_I was saving it for a special occasion, _Hawke said and she smiled_. Anders will be jealous._

A large ball of lightning streaked across the courtyard and hit Varric square in the chest. His body stumbled backwards. The dwarf felt every bit of the pain course through his body. In Marian's thoughts he lay helpless.

_Lavintus, _Marian growled through clinched teeth_. The magister has come out to play. _

Healing energy washed over Varric. _Hawke, _Varric thought. _Please kill the bad man. I don't want to feel my testicles tingle like that again. _

Marian ignored Varric's quip and studied Lavintus. His position was precariously close to Fenris and Aveline. The guard captain had been forced to restrain the elf. He was trying to kill the magister.

_The templars will have Fenris if he lays a hand on Lavintus, _Marian said_. It is disappointing really. I wanted to watch him rip out that bastard's heart._

_Why haven't they seized the magister? _Varric asked_. He's a blood mage. Don't templars eat them for breakfast? _

_Meredith ordered the attack, Varric. She will say it was a necessary evil in order to protect the city, _Marian tapped her index finger against her lips_. Hmmm, maybe I should give them a present of my own._

The flames surrounding Varric died down to a small roar. The templars that had been waiting outside the fiery ring sought to advance. However, Marian could see that they were no longer a group of overconfident zealots; they feared for their lives. A telekentic blast was released and the advancing templars were thrown around like rag dolls.

Varric was laughing so hard he could barely speak. _Did you see that! One of those templars bounced across the pavement and up the Chantry stairs. _The laughter increased in intensity when he watched the templar rise, wobble and immediately fall over. _Can we do that to Cullen? We could bounce him over to the Blooming Rose. The brothel embarrasses the shit out of him._

_Varric, _Marian whispered_. Be quiet for a moment._

Lavintus had taken up a position in front of the Knight-Commander. "You will stop now, abomination, or I will be forced to kill you."

_A blood mage calling us an abomination? No, I don't think so, _Varric grabbed his pint of ale and took a sip. He pointed his imaginary finger at the magister_. Kick his ass, Hawke._

The image of Marian looked over her shoulder and shook her head at Varric. _You have been a mage for less than an hour and you are ready to annihilate any who stand in your way._

_Or bounce them across the courtyard for shits and giggles, _Varric chuckled_. Oh come on, Hawke. You know, it's not every day I get possessed by a mage. This is fun._

Marian made a fist with Varric's hand. She held it aloft for Lavintus and the templars to see. When it opened, yellow flames filickered at the tips of each finger. She raised the hand to the sky; the flames grew brighter, intense, like the rays of the sun. When she brought the arm swiftly down, Burgamond's mansion collapsed.

The magister ran.

_You do these things with such style, Hawke, _Varric said. He placed his stubby legs up on a table and put his hands behind his head._ I guess they won't be finding Burgamond's cellar door any time soon._

_You look very relaxed for a man fighting off an army, _Marian said._ Do you need a drink or a snack?_

_Nah, I'm good, _Varric closed his eyes and released a contented sigh_. I might imagine a naked woman giving me a massage in a minute. Just so you know._

_Ugggg._

"It's Hawke," Aveline said to Fenris. "There's too much showmanship and comedic effect for it to be a regular garden variety abomination."

"I agree," Fenris replied. He had stopped struggling when the magister ran away. Aveline ordered several of her guardsmen to track down Lavintus and bring him back, preferably dead. "How is this possible? And why..." Fenris stared at the masked dwarf. "Did Marian choose to possess Varric?"

Aveline crossed her arms over her chest. "That is something you will hopefully be able to ask her when this is over, if... we do not die first."

"Do we aid her?" Fenris eyed the templars close to him with a look of disgust. The desperation in his voice made Aveline nervous. "We should do something."

"Don't do anything foolish, Fenris," Aveline said in a low whisper. "We are surrounded by templars and unlike Varric... Hawke... you know what I mean, we will be killed outright."

Fenris nodded his head in agreement. But, if it came to it and Marian was in serious danger he would fight the templars to his death.

Meredith, Cullen and several of her senior ranking officers had tried to drain the mana from the dwarf, but the source of the power was within the amulet. Without a body to target their methods were useless. The frustration was leading the Knight-Commander to more desperate measures. Doubt now lingered in Meredith's mind as to who she was really fighting. Yes, the dwarf wore the amulet, but it was doubtful to her that he knew how to use it and if he did, the fact remained that dwarves should not be able to wield magic.

Reinforcements had begun to arrive. It surprised Varric and Marian to see the First Enchanter and a group of mages in their ranks. This, Marian realized was the final battle. Meredith was going to order a full scale attack, throw everything at her and probably pray to the Maker that it would work.

Since the collapse of Burgamond's mansion, the courtyard had grown quiet. The templars had withdrawn to the other side and now stood with their commander waiting for orders. Tension was visible in the way the templars stood and moved. Most had their hands resting heavily on the pommels of their swords.

Meredith turned to Aveline. "I demand you order your guard to fight with us."

"I thought abominations were your area of expertise, Meredith," Aveline said with a self satisfied smile. "My men have not been trained to deal with the evils of magic."

Meredith gave Fenris and Aveline a menacing stare. She walked to the guard captain and closed the gap between their bodies. "You will fight with us or I will see to it you are stripped of your command and locked in the gallows for treason. Do I make myself clear?" Meredith demanded in a gritty tone. "So what is to be?"

Aveline gazed over at the masked Varric. She was surprised to see his head nod in agreement with the Knight-Commander. _Maker, I hope Hawke knows what she is doing._ "Fine, but if any of my men die because you ordered them to attack, then I will make certain you are made to answer for it."

Meredith ignored Aveline's threat and walked back to the side of her Knight-Captain. She raised her sword. "Attack on my command." The sword dropped and the templars, mages and the city guard went for Varric. Fenris unsheathed his sword seeking to kill those who would harm Marian. But with a shake of Varric's head, the elf understood that he was to do nothing.

Lightning, ice, fire, arrows, and men came hurtling towards Varric. _You know, this is a lot of fuss over one dwarf, _Varric said_. _Hawke was amused that he did not appear to be worried about his possible impending death_. I can't blame them. All this male magnetism must be hard to resist._

The music that had flooded Varric's mind during Hawke's use of magic grew in intensity and the sound of the drumbeat overwhelmed his hearing. He watched in awe as Marian and Malcolm Hawke merged into one person. Only the father seemed to remain. When Malcolm's head turned to Varric, his eyes were replaced with blazing blue light.

_Do not be afraid, Varric. _The voice was that of Malcolm Hawke_. I am with you._

Two white flames were in the palms of Varric's hands. The dwarf quickly knelt and tucked his head between his legs. An arcane bubble of great power encompassed his body and nothing, not magic, sword, arrow or men could penetrate it. The templars, including Meredith, studied the dwarf. They were uncertain if they should attempt to strike.

"You cannot stay in there forever, abomination," Meredith stated. "You will have to come out and face us."

Varric's face titled upwards. "As you wish." The dwarf leapt from the ground and the bubble burst throwing every templar, mage and guardsman a great distance. Except one: Meredith. The wind created by the explosion had forced her to protect her face from flying debris. When the dust settled she looked down to the dwarf, but he was no longer there. Instead, she was forced to look up and into the face of Malcolm Hawke.

_Hawke! _Varric's voice trembled_. What have you done to my body?_

The vision of Malcom gave a reassuring smile. _All will be well, dwarf. _

Varric studied the image of Malcolm_. You are not Hawke... I mean Marian, are you? _He rubbed his thick bristles._ Who are you?_

Malcolm's dark eyebrows rose_. That would be telling._

The Knight-Commander had her sword pointed at Malcom's throat. "What sort of mage are you?" Meredith asked and she scrutinized the man from head to toe. "You are not simply an abomination or a dwarf."

_Shows what she knows, _Varric thought to Malcolm_. Are you going to tell me who you are? It's my body you're messing with and I don't like it._

The vision of Malcolm Hawke smirked. _Surely, a dwarf has often fantasized about reaching new heights._

_I am really starting to consider that you might be the real Malcolm Hawke since you are as annoying as your daughter. But you're dead so I'm not sure how that would work. _Varric lit his pipe and eyed the vision_. It's more likely it's just you, Marian messing with my mind. Isn't it enough that you have just made me look like a human?_

"So, mage, I will ask again. What are you?" said Meredith. The point of her sword grazed his skin.

"The best," Malcolm stated with pure confidence.

Malcolm performed a telekinetic burst. The jarring sensation disoriented Meredith and sent her body stumbling backwards. In Malcolm's hand a ball of ice crystals formed. He threw the ball to the ground. After it hit, the ice grew upwards into a long straight line. It had created a staff.

The Knight-Commander raised her sword to attack. Malcolm smirked at her response. Every thrust and stroke he parried with subtle ease. Meredith's swordplay looked childish in comparison to Malcom's fluid movement and clever footing. Not once did he wield magic while he engaged the woman.

_Why don't you just catch her on fire and be done with it? _Varric asked_. _A bare-breasted dwarven woman was massaging his shoulders. _I like the magic better._

_Ser dwarf, would you be kind enough to imagine that woman with some clothing. _Malcolm asked_. It is rather distracting and... there is simply too much hair. _

_You can never have too much of a good thing_, Varric smiled up at the pretty dwarven girl. _Isn't that right, Bianca?_

Cullen considered the situation. The Knight-Commander had given no order to attack. It was his belief that Meredith wished to participate in single combat, but as the battle progressed it became blatantly obvious that the mage could have killed her at any point. He was toying with her, embarrassing her by bringing her down on her rump again and again. But she would not relent. Finally, Cullen could not stand to sit idly by and do nothing. The morale of his men was reaching a new low.

The Knight-Captain drew his sword and held it to Fenris's throat. "Mage!" Cullen yelled. "Cease what you are doing or I will kill this murderer for his crime now!"

Malcolm paused. The bright smile on his face unnerved those who were standing close enough to observe it. A quick burst of ice flew from his hand and coated Cullen's sword from the tip to his hand. The sudden freeze burnt and the weight of the ice forced his arm to the ground.

"Attack the elf!" Meredith shouted. She believed she had finally found Malcolm's weakness. "Do not spare his life."

"I tire of this farce." Malcolm said and his eyes narrowed. It had been the first negative emotion that he had displayed.

The father of Marian Hawke raised his hand in a sudden movement and the bodies of every templar were lifted from the ground. He held them suspended.

"Brace yourselves, this is going to hurt," Malcolm said.

His fist dropped quickly and the templars were slammed into the hard cobbled courtyard. When it was over most were unconscious some wounded. Meredith managed to raise her head. She stared up into the glowing eyes of Malcolm Hawke with a mixture of fear and rage. He reared his arm back and then thrust it forwards. The released magic slid her across the courtyard into an opposing wall. A crack formed from the impact.

Cullen formed two rows of templars with his remaining men. They took up a position on either side of Malcolm. "Do not let that mage near the Knight-Commander!" Cullen ordered. "Defend her with your lives if you must."

"That will not be necessary," Malcolm said.

Malcolm began his walk across the courtyard. The music Varric had heard during the battle increased in volume. As he made his way towards Meredith, Malcolm clapped in time with the music. On each beat the cobblestones rose like vines from the ground and wound their way around the templars legs. They were all incapacitated except Meredith.

When he reached the Knight-Commander, Malcolm looked down at the woman with an unreadable expression. He used magic to raise her from the ground. His hand wrapped around her neck and he lifted her to eye level.

Malcolm's lips neared the Knight-Commander's ear. "Would you know death to see it, Meredith?" he whispered.

"I have seen death," Meredith said with effort. She was breathless and unable to focus clearly on his face.

"Then you should recognize me." Malcolm's voice startled Meredith. It was cold and brutal, yet there was a ring of truth to it that shattered her confidence. "I will tell you this, so that you will know true fear with every breath you take from now until your abysmal end." He smiled. Even Varric found it disturbing. "My daughter will be your downfall."

Malcolm slammed Meredith against the wall again, this time with enough force to render her unconscious. His eyes focused on Fenris for a fleeting moment. Before questions could be posed the body of Malcolm Hawke fell to the ground. The amulet glowed thereafter and when it faded it was Varric who remained.

"Marian?" Fenris asked in a frantic voice. He raced to Varric's side. "Why are you in the dwarf's body? Are you injured?"

"It's not Marian lover boy. It's just me, myself and I once again," Varric said. He rubbed his aching head. "She… had to go back in the amulet... something about possessing me for too long." Varric closed his eyes. The world around him was spinning. "I feel sick."

Aveline and Fenris maneuvered Varric into a standing position. They held onto him until he gained his balance.

"You two need to leave," Aveline noticed that the templars were close to breaking free from their stone prisons. "I assume you had an escape planned?"

"What? Do you think I am some sort of rank amateur? Of course we did," Varric's brows furrowed. "There were just… complications along the way." He gestured with his head towards Lowtown. "Let's go elf before those bastards have a chance to get us."

"Agreed," Fenris said. "What of you, Aveline? Will you be coming with us to…"

"Shhhhh, don't say it for everyone to hear," Varric waved his hand at the elf. "Are you coming with us or not, captain?"

Aveline shook her head. "No. I have too many people depending on me and if I leave, Meredith will finally have what she wants." She eyed Meredith's limp body and sighed. "Maker, I don't know how I am going to clean up this mess." Aveline walked to Varric and then tapped on the amulet. "Hawke, if you can hear me, I want you to know that I am pissed, but I'll do what I can. Get back in your body and heal. That's an order."

"How touching," Varric said. "She heard you, but she said the next person who taps on the amulet can expect a slap when she is back in her body. I guess it echoes in there." Varric looked down at the amulet. Disgust was the prominent expression. "No, I'm not telling the elf that. You can, during your own "special" private time."

Fenris's favorite perturbed eyebrow rose. "What did she say?"

"Nothing I am going to repeat," Varric said. He tapped once on the amulet. "Behave, Hawke."

"Varric we must go," Fenris said. He had noticed that Cullen was almost free of his stony bonds. "If we delay any longer the templars will be able to pursue."

"Alright, elf," Varric rubbed his forehead. Fatigue had set in. "Look, you need to take the amulet and get to where you are going. I'm heading back to the Hanged Man."

"What?" Fenris and Aveline said in unison.

"Just know that everything has been arranged," Varric said. Both of his friends gave him an incredulous look. "I was never going with you in the first place. You are going to need me here, besides I'm pretty sure you and Hawke will need some "alone" time."

"Bah!" Fenris said and his lip curled.

Varric removed the amulet from his neck. He held it aloft and smiled at it. "That was one hell of a ride, Hawke." He kissed the center stone. "Don't worry, I won't tell him about us."

Fenris eyed the dwarf from head to toe with a mixture of disgust and alarmed curiosity. "What?" he asked. Varric laid the amulet in the elf's hand. It glowed as soon as it touched Fenris's skin. "Should I..."

Varric interrupted. "Put it around your neck and then run and don't look back."

Fenris placed the amulet around his neck. He bowed his head to Varric. "Thank you." He ran from his friends with the deft speed of his kind and headed for Lowtown.


	30. Chapter 30: A Dream

Sincere thanks to all the reviewers, favorites, alerts and anyone who dares read my mess of scribbles. You have all been very kind. It means more than I could ever express.

I want to add, that this is not, however, the last chapter of Lyrium Ghost. After writing 15 pages and scrapping it, I finally figured out how I wanted to end this book.

I also wanted to add that this is a three part story ;) There were always plans to write a Lyrium Ghost 1, 2 and 3. Kirkwall, Orlais, Kirkwall and... not going to say ;) I hope you will stick with me to the end. :)

Thank you so much! This is a short chapter but another to go and then finished. Yay!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 30: A Dream<strong>

"Are you certain?" Sol asked.

There was a hint of indecision in the elf's voice. Sending someone purposefully into the Fade was not a task Sol relished or wished to participate in. Fenris had explained that Marian's conscious mind was bound to the amulet. He could speak with her in his thoughts, but her image was not clear to him and he wished for more clarity. Sol had read between the lines; Fenris wanted to see the former Marian, the one that was not battered and torn from head to toe. This, apparently, had also been her request.

Fenris fought through his insecurity and committed with a nod. "Yes, I am certain."

"You will not wake until morning." Sol handed Fenris a vial of blue liquid. "That is why I pray it is Marian in that amulet, otherwise you may find yourself at the mercy of a demon."

Fenris knocked the liquid back in one go. "I have faced far worse," he replied, the wisdom of years of battle ringing true in his words. "This is no demon."

Solivitus glanced at the elf doubtfully. "Many a man has been led to believe the same." He pulled a weather-worn chair from the floor and was seated. "I will be watching you and Marian. If I see the slightest sign of stress, I will enter the Fade to assess the situation."

The candlelight flickered from the wind of Fenris's movement. He lay down next to Marian's body and slipped his hand under hers to intertwine their fingers. The red favor he had wrapped lovingly around her wrist was present. It had remained untouched and the locks of white and dark hair were still tucked together within the fabric.

A look of disgust marred Fenris's face. He looked up at Sol. "What was in the potion you gave me to drink?"

"Lyrium, valerian, lemon balm, chamomile, hops, passion flower and a sprig of mint," Sol answered without delay. "You did not like the taste? Most people say it is very refreshing."

Fenris eyed the empty vial with contempt. "I assume the majority of those ingredients are to aid sleep, but what does the mint do?"

"It is simply for flavor," Sol said. "Why? You do not like mint?"

"No," Fenris adamantly stated. "You may want to consider an alternative for those who detest it."

Sol gave a bark of laughter. "Well, I shall add that to my to-do list after my hair and eyebrows have grown again and I no longer smell of burnt flesh."

Fenris felt sorrow for what Sol had suffered at the hands of magister Lavintus. While he had been making good his escape from Hightown, Sol had become tangled in a string of unfortunate events. Fenris had witnessed the last remnants of the fight between the two mages before Lavintus was finally defeated. The way the magister died still boggled Fenris's mind. That was a matter he planned to discuss with Marian after they were reunited in the Fade.

Sleep found Fenris and with it came the dream. The familiar sound of fire brought Fenris fully into the Fade. His eyes fluttered and then slowly opened to reveal that he was lying in Marian's bed, or rather, what had finally become their shared bed. Perched near the end was Marian. A wilting smile and eyes full of unshed tears painted her face a picture of sorrow. He noted, with some strange satisfaction, that she was wearing the blue damasked gown he had purchased on a whim. They had been buying fruit in the market that morning when it had caught her eye. The cost of the dress had made Marian cringe and she was unwilling to pay the asking price. Fenris remembered the pleasantly surprised look on her face when he laid the coin needed on the dressmaker's counter. She had blushed like a schoolgirl given her first kiss by a boy.

Fenris lifted his body from the downy mattress and sat upright. They stared at the other for a beat before Marian broke the silence.

"Fenris," she said and her head bowed. He watched her fingers worry the gilded belt wrapped around her waist. "I am so sorry."

Fenris closed the gap between them and he drew Marian into his arms. His fingers tilted her chin upwards until her lips were fully exposed. He claimed her mouth with his own and with his kisses he tried to convey that his love for her had not diminished.

Marian let it happen. She did not dare question why he sought to comfort her when it was certain any other man would never forgive her transgressions.

His forehead came to rest upon hers and his eyes tightly closed. "Marian," he whispered.

"Yes?" she spoke.

"Don't do it again," Fenris said. At the sound of her laughter, she felt his lips upturn into a smile. It was a brief respite, but one that Marian considered a gift. "Why did you not come to me?"

The question sounded deceptively simple, but she knew that it was masked and full of hidden meaning. It was a need to understand, to be reassured that there was mutual trust, and to know that their relationship was not dictated by the same rules they used in battle. This was about respect and the answer had to be honest.

She pulled away and out of his arms. "The night your memories returned and you left to sleep in mother's room, I truly wondered if you would be gone in the morning." Fenris shifted away. The elf's eyes focused on the fire and his expression was unreadable. "Of course, you did not leave, but I began to have doubts and I thought..." Tears formed in her eyes and her voice quivered. "I thought if I could understand your markings, then perhaps, I could somehow ease your burden."

"I must ask again, why did you not come to me? Why did you do this without my consent or my knowledge?" Fenris rose quickly from the bed. "Even if you found the answer, did you believe I would allow you to experiment with my body?"

This was going in a direction Marian wished to avoid. Conclusions would be drawn and soon comparisons would be made, because she was a mage and he a victim of magic's misuse. "How can you think such a thing, Fenris? I would never touch you without your permission."

"Yet, you would seek a book written by Danarius without my knowledge, involve our friends without my knowledge, confront Burgamond and let us not forget..." His voice turned dark. "Kill my sister."

"I did it to protect you," Marian answered. She moved to where he stood and refused to look away. "I would go to the Void and back for you."

Fenris did not respond in anger. Instead, it was pain that resonated in his voice. "I know," he whispered. "But I cannot continue this way."

_Maker, please tell me he isn't... _"What do you mean?" Marian said. She felt it was best to ask and be done with it. "You no longer wish us to be together?"

Fenris's chest fell from the weight of his sigh. "I wish to be a couple in every sense of the meaning, but this life we lead, I tire of it. I want..." He shook his head and his eyes dropped.

"What do you want?" Marian asked.

Everything they had suffered had come down to this moment. Marian could not anticipate his answer. Fenris rarely said definitively what he wanted. He was still grappling with the concept of freedom. But this, whatever it was, she knew was his first real decision concerning his life as a free man. She feared it more than any enemy she had yet faced.

"I want to lead a simple life."

Marian breathed a sigh of relief. His statement was not what she had expected, but since it did not spell out their separation she would gladly hear him out. "You mean settle down?"

"Yes," Fenris said. "Away from the public eye and the danger."

"But I am the Champion of Kirkwall," she quickly challenged and said as if he needed to be reminded that she was important. "I cannot simply abandon my duties."

_Too proud_, he thought_. "_I do not wish to live my life with the Champion of Kirkwall." His eyes narrowed in taught and painful lines. "I only wish to live it with you... Marian Hawke."

Marian regarded him silently for a moment. The proposition appealed, but as long as Meredith lived, she could not simply walk away from Kirkwall and leave it in her care.

"Fenris, I explained to you that Meredith wanted me dead, that she was plotting with Burgamond to make him viscount. She must be made to answer," Marian said. Fenris looked unconvinced so she continued. "If I do not confront her, none of our friends will be able to live or return safely to Kirkwall."

"I see," Fenris folded his arms over his chest. "Sol almost died today fighting to save Isabela from Lavintus."

"I was adamant that he not return to Kirkwall," Marian's voice rose in volume. "If he had listened..."

Fenris cut into the conversation. "He came back to help Varric," he stated in an unyielding tone. "You say you worry for their safety, yet they have all put themselves in harms way to save you, and they will continue to do so, until either they are killed or you stop involving yourself in every conflict that comes your way."

The words had cut deep. "So, I should..." She shrugged. "What? Turn a blind eye? Ignore people who need help? If I had done so from the beginning you would still be running from Danarius."

The argument had gone too far and she knew it. Fenris closed his eyes and rubbed them in methodical strokes. When he finally acknowledged her presence again, the anger had receded. "Marian," he said in a low throaty whisper. "We will have ample time to discuss this in Orlais." _Once she sees her body perhaps she will not be so eager to return to Kirkwall, _he ashamedly thought. His eyes drifted from her face. "There is the matter of your recovery to attend to before decisions are made."

The fact that Marian had yet to see her body had redirected Fenris's anger and moved him to pity. In the morning, she would be presented with the harrowing sight and regardless of their differences, tonight, she would have his support.

"How bad are the injuries?" Marian asked, against her better judgment. "Surely, Sol and Anders healed the worst of the wounds? I know you are not fond of Anders, but they are both competent healers."

The first of several tears fell from Fenris's eyes. "Some injuries never heal, Marian." He held out his hand and she grasped it. "But, I will remain at your side."


	31. Finale Part I: Humble Bravery

This chapter has been hijacked by the unlikeliest of characters. But, I see where he is going with this, so I decided to go along with my muse... this time. I hope (trying very hard not to laugh) that you will continue to read after this chapter. Maker, help us all. Mages are troublemakers even the sweet ones. :}

My lurvely proofreader has asked that I break my finale into two parts for ease of grammar checking. Who am I to argue? So, here is part 1. I want to thank, as always, reviewers, readers, favorites, alerts, private message people and everyone in between. It's always a treat to hear from people. :D

I'd also like to remind people that this is an M rated story in case that has been forgotten or overlooked. :D

Thank you so much!

**Finale Part I: **Humble Bravery

Solivitus had started to doze. This had been his first time on the open waters and the gentle rocking motion of the ship had put him in a trancelike state. He tried to bat the sleepiness from his eyes, but they grew heavy and began to shut. The mage was at the mercy of his fatigue.

"Sol," Donnic whispered. He remained firmly planted in the doorway, awaiting a response. "Here is your tea."

"What?" Sol awoke with a start. His bloodshot eyes strained to gain focus. "I fell asleep," he said, disappointed that he had not been able to keep up his vigil. His attention immediately focused on Fenris. The elf had not moved and his breathing was calm. "Thank the Maker you were not too long, Donnic." The mage relaxed his stick-straight posture and then stretched to relieve the tension in his back.

Donnic took a tentative step into the room. "Should I leave?" he whispered afraid he may wake Fenris. "I do not want to disturb him." There was a bed with a couple in it, and Donnic was no voyeur. They were his friends, and to look upon them while they slept made him uncomfortable.

Sol did not have the same qualms. The gallows offered little in the way of privacy. If a mage was lucky he might find a secluded corner in which to lay his bedroll, but with stone came echoes and little went unheard.

"He will not wake until morning," Sol said in his normal tone of voice. The mage gestured to a chair. "I wouldn't mind some company if you are up for it." His eyes darted to Fenris. "You see, I am afraid to leave him unattended in case it is a demon in the amulet."

Donnic grabbed a chair and positioned it across from Sol. "Fenris said to me that it is Marian. Why would you doubt his word?"

"Well…" Sol smiled. "When was the last time you had someone tell you that a woman trapped in an amulet was speaking to you in your thoughts?"

When Fenris declared that Marian's mind was in the amulet, Donnic had his doubts too, but he did not have the heart to say otherwise. The elf had visited her bedside every day to whisper words of endearment when he thought no one else could hear. It had taken its toll on him. When Donnic looked upon Marian he imagined Aveline in her place, and it filled him with rage and unfathomable sadness. If this was what Fenris needed or if it happened to be true, then he would help. "I see your point," Donnic said. "Do you suspect it is a demon?"

The question had brought back many unpleasant memories of fellow mages who had fallen prey to demon promises. Since the décor in the gallows was less than pleasant, with golden statues of crying slaves and rough granite walls, the temptation to find a way to escape had led people to dark places. "The body, when threatened by a demon in the Fade, tends to show signs of stress in the mortal world," Sol said. "So far, I have seen little emotion and no movement. I can only assume they are speaking."

Donnic sighed. "That would be a very loud and depressing conversation."

"I…" Sol snickered, amused by what he was about to say. "I asked Fenris to keep his anger in check. A demon could take advantage of his emotional state and perhaps sway him into a deal. But if it is Marian, then the inevitable outbursts must wait." He looked to the ground and rubbed his forehead. "She will need her strength to re-enter her body."

Donnic studied Sol's face and when he thought he was not looking, his eyes skimmed over the mage's body. Burn marks were visible on his exposed skin. Sol's messy mop of red hair, rarely brushed, was burned away, as were his eyebrows. Several ugly scars stretched from the top of his forehead and deepened as they lengthened to the nape of his neck. "What happened to you today, Sol? I heard Fenris mumble something about a magister and Isabela, but little else."

"Oh, you noticed," Sol said. He rolled his eyes at his own remark. "I found myself in an awkward situation." He looked to Marian. His head tilted to the side and his face was etched in sorrow. "It is but a minor wound compared to what she has suffered," he whispered. Donnic followed his gaze and grimaced. "She..." Sol's voice caught in his throat. "She will never be the same."

"You could not do more for her?" Donnic asked without consideration.

Sol shrugged. "We are not miracle workers, Donnic." Both men's eyes were drawn to her missing fingers. "If she had been brought to us sooner then maybe we could have lessened the extent of the damage, but this is really the best anyone could hope for."

"I apologize," said Donnic quickly, and he bowed his head. "No one is questioning your abilities."

"I am." Sol rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps I should not have helped her live."

Donnic's forehead wrinkled. How can you say such a thing?" he asked in a soft but commanding tone. "She has always considered you a dear friend."

Sol erupted from his chair and pointed to Marian, screaming, "Look at her body! Her hands, her teeth and lest we forget, though I do not see how, her scarred face. Tell me, if it had been Aveline..."

Donnic had lived the gruesome scenario in his mind almost everyday. To look upon Marian's scarred face and to think it could have been Aveline, had torn at his emotions to the point that he could no longer remain neutral. One evening, after the elf had finished his visit with Marian, Donnic went secretly to Fenris and together they devised the plan that had ultimately led to Burgamond's death.

"She is alive," Donnic said with doubt. "That's all that matters."

"The truth is," Sol raised his hands to the sky, frustrated by the state of Marian and his own admission. "I saved her because I was too selfish to let her die."

Donnic thought on Sol's reaction and tried to decipher the meaning behind it. His eyebrow arched. "You have feelings for Hawke?"

"No, nothing like that," Sol shooed the comment away like an errant fly. He paced a few steps. "She was the first to treat me like a person, with dignity and respect." There was warm fondness in his smile. "Do you know what that means to man who has not only been shunned by society, but by his own kind? Mages look down on men like me because we have tried to adapt to the templar rule. I attempted to make my life mean something in a meaningless existence."

"Aveline has always spoken highly of you." Donnic's words were sincere. He suddenly lit up. "The only time she complained was when Hawke snuck contraband into the gallows for you."

Sol felt unworthy of praise. "And how do I repay Marian?" he asked, rhetorically. "I leave her with a face full of scars and a body that may never completely heal."

Donnic regarded the mage thoughtfully. "It is not as if you have come away from this unscathed, Sol," Donnic said. "Your hands are burnt, your skin blistered and for Maker's sake, your eyebrows look ridiculous."

Sol tried to stifle it, but he had to laugh. "The Orlesians pluck their eyebrows, so perhaps I will fit in."

"Maker," Donnic shook his head. He sighed. "What a fine mess this woman has woven."

"At least you were spared the antics of today," Sol said. He shuffled across the room to his chair and eased down onto it. The pain he bore was obvious. "In all my years, never did I think I would be fighting a magister in the middle of Lowtown."

Donnic leaned back into his chair and considered the mage. "How in Andraste's name did that come about?" Donnic asked. "I was not aware there was a problem until Merrill came running out of the cave carrying a bloody huge staff more than twice her size, yelling at us."

Sol hung his head low and began to massage the back of his neck. "Yes, well, it wasn't Merrill's fault. I... left her in a predicament," Sol said. He peered up at the guardsman. "You see, Varric convinced us to leave him behind. We did so, but with much reluctance. Honestly, I was scared out of my wits. Killing Lord Burgamond and dueling templars was too much in one day for a simple circle mage." The memory of Burgamond's gruesome death remained fresh in his mind. Although he had found it fascinating, yet satisfying when Fenris ripped the man's heart out, it had terrified Sol. He would never forget it. "But, if the dwarf had insisted, I would have remained. Varric was adamant that we get the staff and book away from magister Lavintus." Sol shrugged. "At the time it made sense."

"But you..." Donnic gave him a puzzled look. "You decided to return. Why?"

That was a question Sol had asked many times. What had compelled him to return, to help a man that he believed to be fighting a fruitless battle? The answer came to him later, after he boarded the ship they were sailing to Orlais. His first step onto the gangway had become synonymous with freedom.

"Until recently, I have spent my whole life obeying rules," Sol said. "When we arrived at Petrice's old safe house, I realized that everyone, Varric, Fenris, Merrill, all of you had much more to lose than I." He forced the words through clinched teeth. "I wanted people to remember me for something, anything other than the quirky mage who makes potions and enchantments."

Donnic nodded in admiration of Sol's choice. "So, you returned."

"I did," Sol confirmed. "But, I decided to seek help."

"Is that when you went to Isabela?" Donnic asked. "Fenris told me you saved her life, but when I inquired, she would say nothing."

"She is in shock," Sol said. "I know it sounds unbelievable for someone of her... calibre, but she was a gnat's tadger away from a horrendous death today." The guilt Sol harbored was evident to Donnic. "Regrettably, it was my fault."

"I find that hard to believe," Donnic said. He lightly laughed. "Aveline threatens to kill her daily."

Sol smirked. "Well... I almost accomplished the task for your wife." He shifted uneasily in his chair. "I was aware that Isabela would be at the Hanged Man after she lured Burgamond out of the Chantry. So, I..."

"You went to ask her aid," Donnic interjected.

"I did," Sol replied. A strong look of fondness swept across his face. "I found Isabela standing at the bar drinking a shot of whiskey. But, if I had paid closer attention to my surroundings instead of her tits, I would have noticed Lavintus. He was hiring men to help get him safely to the docks."

It quickly became obvious to Donnic that Sol was infatuated with Isabela. He had to wonder, considering that most of Sol's body hair was missing, if it ran deeper than just feelings. Whatever the mage's reason for saving the woman, it had to be something more than the chance to see her naked.

"Lavintus recognized me. He must have seen us enter Burgamond's mansion through the cellar," Sol said. "I was hit by an electrical charge before I had a chance to defend myself… Bastard," he mumbled. "Thankfully, Isabela was quick on her feet and she covered our exit with a smoke bomb."

Donnic propped his leg up on his knee and rested his weight back into his chair. He had been eager to hear this story after learning a few tidbits from Fenris. "I am going to take a wild guess and say he managed to find you before you could escape Lowtown."

"I suppose the burn marks give it away," Sol swept his hands over his body. "We were almost to Petrice's hovel when the magister cast a fireball in front of us. Then..." His face soured like curdled milk. "We were forced to deal with him." Sol closed his eyes and tilted his head back to face the ceiling. "I was never so frightened as I was when I turned to see a magister staring back at me with bloodlust in his eyes. "But..." He shook his head and tears threatened to spill over. "When he encased Isabela in ice, something happened to me, a feeling I had never had before, and it replaced my fear. I decided then to stand my ground." He smiled at Donnic. "Odd, considering I have spent the best portion of my life being complacent."

"We all have our breaking points," Donnic added. "Thankfully, for Isabela, you no longer feared to take action." _He is in love with her. The Maker has a wicked sense of humor._

Sol laughed. "Oh no, I was scared shitless," he said. "One advantage to being locked away in the gallows is that it gives you plenty of time to read. I knew all too well what the magister was capable of doing to me, but I refused to see yet another woman torn to shreds." His eyes drifted to Marian.

"Since you sit here before me sipping tea, you were obviously the stronger mage," Donnic said.

The teacup rattled against the saucer as Sol sat it down. "I didn't kill Lavintus," he said, his voice hollow. "He committed suicide."

Donnic stared at the mage for a moment. "I... do not understand."

"I am not sure it can be explained," Sol said. "Lavintus cast a spell at Isabela, one that is only known by the most prominent of Tevinter magisters, or, I suppose those who are nosey enough to find the spell and copy it down. That fat magister did not strike me as very prominent." Sol waved away his offhand comment. "It was blue lightning."

Donnic's empty stare begged for an explanation. "And that is different from regular lightning... how?" Donnic asked. "It all sounds equally unhealthy."

"This particular flavor of lightning instantly kills the victim," Sol explained. "I knew if it hit Isabela she would be dead, so I cast a healing spell over my body and dove headlong into the lightning, deflecting it away from her."

"Since you are not dead, I am going to assume it was the smart decision." Donnic commented. "Although brave, one might question your sanity."

"It was a decision. Now, if you were to ask me if it was wise..." Sol frowned. "I did see my life flash before my eyes." His nose wrinkled. "It wasn't very interesting."

Donnic chuckled. "That is obviously no longer the case. Not many people can say they fought a magister and lived to tell about it."

"I was lucky," Sol smiled wanly. "The healing spell offset the effects of the lightning just enough to keep me alive. While Lavintus was recovering from the drain of casting such a spell, I was able to drink one of my special concoctions." Sol's voice always rang with pride when he spoke of his potions and enchantments. To create them required a deep understanding of botany, human and animal anatomy and the properties of enchantment. Where most failed to create even the most rudimentary enchantments, he succeeded to craft highly prized and coveted objects. The finest of his creations were always saved for Marian. "I have been making health potions by the barrel-load since escaping from the gallows." He pointed to Donnic. "You people lead a dangerous lifestyle."

"Hawke attracts trouble," Donnic replied. He leaned close and lowered his voice. "You have not said why or when Lavintus decided to off himself." A silent moment passed while he considered the matter. "It is... peculiar seeing as he obviously had the upper hand."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," Sol said with a hint of mirth. The mage's voice turned contemplative. "When I was able to stand, Lavintus and I squared off. As you can see from my skin, I did not fare so well. But then Fenris arrived." Two of his fingers mimicked the hop of a rabbit. "He had just come bounding around the corner in that strange bouncy way of his."

Donnic tried to hide his amusement. "All of us have commented on it once or twice, maybe more, enough to thoroughly annoy him."

"You are a brave man indeed," Sol said. "That elf terrifies me."

Donnic gestured to Sol and encouraged him to continue. "You were saying."

"Lavintus's hands fell to his side and from his belt he pulled a dagger. I thought he meant to throw it at me, but instead, he put it to his throat. I watched in disbelief as this man cut through his own skin. While he did this, his hand oddly twitched as if he were trying to stop, yet he did not."

"He cut his own throat?" Donnic wanted clarification. He had never heard of a man committing suicide halfway through a battle, especially when he was winning. "Why do you think he would do such a thing?"

Sol answered, but his words were solemn and carried an eerie undertone. "I think the magister was possessed," he whispered deep and low. "On the way to the Wounded Coast, I spoke briefly with Fenris, he said Lavintus died at the hands of Malcolm Hawke, but when I enquired further he would say nothing more."

"Marian's father?" Donnic asked. His facial features were rife with surprise. "That doesn't make any sense. He is dead, has been for years."

Sol pointed towards Fenris. "Hence, why I sit here now watching for any sign that he may be facing a demon, though..." He laughed quietly. "I am not sure this particular man would react the way most would."

"You say that he will not wake until morning?" Donnic asked. "I will keep watch for you, Sol." He gave him a warm smile. "You have been through enough today, my friend."

Sol found that he could not say no to the offer. Donnic was a trustworthy man, always true to his word. There was no doubt that he would remain awake and watch over Marian and Fenris.

"I do not want to accept, but I am no good to Fenris asleep," Sol conceded. "If there is any sign of discomfort or emotion, please wake me, Donnic."

Donnic rubbed the stout bristles on his chin, as was his habit when something troubled him. "Why do you not ask Anders to watch them? He is a mage and could enter the Fade if something goes amiss."

"I do not trust him," Sol said without pause. He carefully studied Fenris for the last time before standing to leave. "I am no friend of the templars, but I would not object if they locked him in the gallows."

"I... tend to agree with you," Donnic replied. "Aveline says he has become reclusive and unpredictable and we both fear he will do something rash."

Sol snorted. "You and me both." He became still and quiet. "I have always envied people who have the freedom to do as they please. But I accept that some mages, like any dangerous person, should be locked away."

The statement surprised Donnic, considering it had been spoken by a man who had been locked in the gallows his entire life. Being around Sol, assured him that not every mage was a fanatic and that most were level-headed people. Anders, he believed, did more to the detriment of his own kind than he helped.

"Fenris once told me that no one is truly free. We are all at the mercy of our circumstances," Donnic grinned. "But, after he met Hawke he said to me: 'he who accepts his lot in life without question will always be a slave to those who feel entitled.'"

Sol shook his head and looked down at the elf lying on the bed. "Maker, he is such a conundrum."

"You have no idea," Donnic smiled back at him. His face turned somber when he looked up at Sol. The Mage's eyes were close to closing. "You should rest."

"Yes," Sol nodded in agreement. "But if there is the slightest change…"

Donnic pointed to the door; a playful signal that he should leave. "I will come for you. Now go, before I am forced to put you in bed with Fenris and Hawke."

"Thank you," Sol said. "I will see you in the morning." He bowed his head in respect and headed for his cabin.

_Maker, I hope nothing happens, _thought Sol_. How am I supposed to sleep when there is a possibility that an elf, branded with lyrium, will become possessed and kill us all?_

The hallway was dim, lit by a single oil lamp. Earlier that day, the sun had offered natural illumination, but now the shadows were thick and the noise of groaning timbers filled the quiet. Sol stopped short of his cabin door to look at a small portrait of a family. He knewthe ship belonged to Donnic and his brother, Nevin. It had been bequeathed to them after the death of their father. In the portrait, there was two small boys, a rather stout dark-headed woman and a tall man with thick sideburns. Sol now understood where Donnic got his affinity for facial hair.

The rusty cabin door opened with a shrill grating cry. It made Sol's teeth ache. He closed it slowly, hoping it would ease the noise without prolonging the agony. _I need to oil that in the morning, _thought Sol_. I wonder what they use for lubrication around here?_ He quietly chuckled._ Essence of Isabela? _

He took one step towards the bed, eager to lay his head on his pillow, but he noticed someone else was under the covers. He thought for a moment. _This is my cabin isn't it? There are only four. It's not like I could have taken a wrong turn. _Sol rubbed his eyes_. Maker, I just want to sleep._

The mage turned to leave. He would willingly sleep out on the open deck if necessary.

"Where are you going?" A familiar voice asked. "I thought you might like some company."

_I am definitely in the wrong room. _Sol squinted_. _"Isabela?" he asked. "I thought this was my cabin."

Isabela swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She gave him a saucy smile and finished with a wink. Sol was tempted to pinch his hand to make certain he was not dreaming. "It _is_ your cabin, sweet thing," she answered in a suggestive tone. Sol swallowed hard enough for her to notice. "Do you want me to leave?"

"You can stay…" Sol smiled awkwardly. "I can find another room," he suggested. Isabela rose from the bed. The movement of her hips was reminiscent of a pendulum and the mage found them just as hypnotizing. She closed the gap between their bodies. "I am sure Anders would not mind sharing his room with me."

Isabela's finely plucked eyebrows rose. "You would rather share a bed with Anders than me?"

"I didn't know that was on offer," Sol said, his voice low and unsteady. "Besides, you should be asleep."

She ran a stray finger down his chest. "Are you always concerned for me?"

Sol closed his eyes. The touch had been slight and Sol was sure most would find it a miniscule tease, but he had grown rock hard. He looked down at the finger resting on his chest and then back up at Isabela. "Yes," he whispered. "Your welfare is important to me." He sighed when she gently moved her hand away. _What was it the Man's Guide to Wooing a Woman said? Remain aloof, be confident, but be yourself. _He mentally cringed_. Myself? That cannot be right. It was obviously written by a woman. _"Did you come here to thank me for saving your life or..." He blushed. "Do you require a potion, perhaps something to help you sleep?" _And now I shall remain a virgin for the rest of my life._

"Why did you do it?" Isabela asked. Her playful smirk wilted. "You knew you would die," she said in all seriousness. There was a hint of wonder in her voice.

"I did," Sol admitted. His lips displayed a sad smile. "I decided that if I was going to die, it should be in a manly way instead of running around screaming like a girl." A hopeful, boyish grin emerged. "Were you impressed?"

Isabela smiled. "Well, that kind of crazy only comes about when a man is a thirty-something year old virgin."

"Which you have reminded me that I am since we have known each other," Sol said. Her comment made both of his erect postures droop. "The gallows isn't exactly conducive to romantic relations you know."

"It wouldn't stop me," said Isabela. She leaned her body against Sol and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't want you to die a virgin." She brushed her lips against his and guided him towards the bed.

Sol hesitated when his leg touched the bedside. A life of being denied freedom and constant fear of retribution had aroused his anxiety instead of his body. "Maybe this is not a great idea, Isabela."

"Why not?" she purred. "I think it is, and if you die tomorrow I will rest easy knowing you received a good deflowering."

"I don't want a pity fuck," Sol said. "Nor do I need to be repaid for what I did today, in case..." he added quickly, "that is what this is."

She placed her hands on her ample hips. "Hey, now, I take offense at that. When has it ever been wrong to pay someone back by having sex with them?"

"Maker, woman," Sol teased. "How do you get within ten steps of the Chantry without combusting?"

Isabela took a seat on the bed. A wicked smile played on her lips. "I could teach the Maker a thing or two, so…" She raised a suggestive eyebrow while she ran her eyes up and down his body. "Are you going to stand there all night finding reasons why we shouldn't make magic together, or are you going to come fuck me senseless?"

"This is going to sound stupid, but I do not want you to do this because you feel indebted," Sol said. The comment, he hoped, she would not interpret as an insult. "Not that this would be meaningless for me, but I assume it would be a one off, done your duty, experience for you."

She rolled her eyes. "You are right. It sounds stupid." She gave him a quizzical glance. "Is this…" Isabela hesitated. "About emotions? Do you have feelings that go beyond looking at my tits, Sol?"

"I... do," Sol admitted. It had been hard to say, especially for a man who had been careful to keep his feelings in check his entire life. Show strong emotions for others or state what you feared and the templars would use it against you, to keep you demoralized and under their thumb. But even so, Sol was aware that admitting you cared for a person as a friend or otherwise was not a weakness. It was, in his opinion, one of the loveliest traits a person could possess and it took courage. "I care deeply for you, but... "He shook his head annoyed at his lack of resolve. "Maker, I cannot say no to a night with you."

Isabela grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast. Sol felt the nipple harden beneath his palm. She slid a hand down his trousers, and without much effort her light touch made him orgasm.

Isabela watched him contort with pleasure. "Damn, I'm good," she said, but she resisted the urge to laugh. Sol had earned her respect and she had every intention of giving him a pleasurable experience.

"That was rather embarrassing," Sol said when he was able to speak. "Maker," he whispered and shut his eyes. "No man should be humiliated like this."

"Nonsense," Isabela said dismissively. "It's only embarrassing if you can't get it up." Sol gave the pirate an incredulous stare. It coaxed a small laugh from Isabela. "Shall we try again? The other breast is jealous."

This was Sol's chance to experience ecstasy, something he had always been denied. It was not under ideal circumstances but he questioned if anything was ever ideal. Life was messy.

Sol raised his hand to stroke her cheek, but lost his nerve and moved it away. Isabela decided that the failed attempt at intimacy was a sign that he wanted to continue. She began to undress Sol. The scene reminded her of the first time she had been intimate with another. It was awkward, fascinating, scary, but the need to experience it overwhelmed any misgivings. She could see those emotions in Sol's eyes.

Isabela winced at the burn marks plastered across his body. Each one had been endured for her continued survival. She had been encased in ice and had to watch in horror as the magister hit Sol time and time again with lightning, fire, ice and stone. But Sol had stood his ground. He had said to her, even as his strength started to fail and his clothes were soaked with blood: 'the magister will not have you.' Up until now, Hawke had been the only person to earn her love and respect. Solivitus had become the second.

The virginal mage stared longingly at her breasts. He wanted to touch, to taste, but he was intimidated. This woman, to say the least, was experienced. There was no doubt in his mind that he could not satisfy her in the way she was accustomed. It would be messy and unfulfilling.

"Well..." She lifted an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to undress me?"

He was not sure where to start. His fingers fumbled to undue the lacings on her top. "Where is the end of the string?" Sol asked. He examined the lacings as if he were considering his next move in a chess match. It had him perplexed "Do you cut this thing? I could cut it. I would happily cut if off of you, but then if I scratched you..."

"Honestly," Isabela said. In one swift movement she had the lacings undone. She pulled the coin purse hidden between her breasts out and threw it onto a nearby table. The mage glanced over at the hefty amount of coin and then back at her breasts. Yes, he decided that there was indeed enough coverage to hide it, but not enough room to store it. As far as he was concerned it could stay one of life's great mysteries.

She lowered her top and shimmied out of the garment. Five hidden daggers later and she was completely naked. Sol did not hesitate. Gone was the intimidated virgin who longed to touch, but was too nervous to try.

He squeezed her breasts together. The tip of his tongue flicked back and forth between her nipples until they pebbled in response. In slow, languid motions, his tongue outlined the curvature of her breasts, occasionally dropping back down to her nipples for a teasing lick. Isabela's hands slid to his shoulders and she arched her back to fully expose her breasts to their best advantage. They were both surprised when she released a deep throaty moan.

Sol's lips meandered from her breasts downwards. Every inch of her he longed to taste, to savor, certain that this would be his first and last time with Isabela. He stopped at her navel and circled it with light kisses. Sol ran a line of wispy bites up her torso and then he stood to face the woman that would be his first lover. Isabela intended to speak, but he captured her mouth with his and his kiss was eager and deep.

Isabela pulled away. "Are you ready, big boy?" she asked. A lopsided grin accentuated her come hither voice. "It has been a while since I've had someone so _eager _in my boudoir." She sized up the room. "Maybe I should rephrase that. In a rundown ship's cabin, but that's a minor detail," she added as an afterthought. "So?"

"Maker, yes," Sol said in a heated whisper. "I apologize now for my lack of experience, but... you knew what you were getting before this started."

Isabela pushed him down on the bed and straddled his hips. She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "By the time I am finished with you there will be no need for you to apologize to another woman again."

His fingers dug into her hips. "Anything you want," Sol said, his voice heavy and breathless. "I am so very willing."

Isabela rubbed her body against his cock. It was already hard and waiting. Sol's eyes rolled back into his head and closed. A second later he erupted, pounding his hips against the inside of her thigh and releasing his seed during a string of swearing. Isabela laughed without reserve.

"Now, this is the type of foreplay I would expect from the creepy poet that compared me to a heart worm," Isabela teased. "Do you think you will ever be able to get further than my leg, Sol? I feel like I am babysitting someone's poodle."

Sol sighed. "I can't help it, Isabela and you of all people are aware how frustrated I am." He pouted. "For six years you visited me and I had to pretend to care more about a newt's ass than the color of your underpants. You have no idea how frustrating it was to see you and not be able to touch, or at least flirt."

She rested her hands against his chest for support. "So, tell me."

"You seem like the last person who would want to hear the sob story of a circle mage," Sol said in a contrite tone.

"I didn't say I would listen," Isabela said. She laughed at her own comment and at Sol's childlike huff. "Just say whatever it is you need to say so we can get back to the sex."

Sol stared at the wall instead of meeting her gaze. "They demoralize men in that wretched place." He rubbed a hand over his burnt forehead without thinking and winced. "Did you know they had considered castrating us?"

"They wanted to cut your balls off?" Isabela had to repeat the obvious to make certain she had heard Sol correctly. "But... what about all the girly mages? What are they supposed to do for fun?" She seemed to seriously consider her statement. "I guess they could have fun together, but what about three..."

"Isabela," Sol interrupted. "You think it is funny that they wanted to take my testicles to the chopping block?"

"Well, when you say it like that..." She blew a piece of stray hair out of her face. "Look, you have a beautiful woman sitting on your not so severed knob. So, why are you still bitching?"

Sol's forehead wrinkled, but after only a moment it straightened into a serene line of calm. To her surprise he laughed. "What the fuck _is_ wrong with me?" he said. "The sexiest woman in Thedas is sitting on top of me and I'm whining like a little girl." He flipped her onto her back before she realized what had happened. Sol gently opened her legs and his eyes studied every inch of her nether regions. "Maker, you are beautiful."

Isabela had expected her encounter with Sol to be short. They would have brief sex, he would cherish it forever and she would walk away feeling less indebted. The carefully planned scenario in her head was backfiring. He had his head between her legs trying to satisfy her instead of taking what he wanted. What frightened her was that, for a virgin, it felt sublime.

"Sol, I thought you were a virgin," Isabela said, her breathing was labored. "If you are not a virgin..." The movement of his tongue had distracted her halfway through a sentence." Yes, like that... right there..."

He stopped and she squirmed. "I am a virgin," he said. He licked the bud between her legs skillfully, receiving a gasp of approval before he continued. "But, I am also an expert in human anatomy."

The wicked grin on his face assured Isabela that she was in trouble. This was an ambush in more ways than one. She had never considered that books could be so intuitive. "Maybe we should..." Isabela started. But, Sol stroked her again, licking in all the right spots and bringing her frustration to its peak.

"No, we will continue," Sol whispered. He brushed his lips over her clit and his warm breath heated it. "Maybe..." he smiled smugly. "There are a few things I can teach you."

Perhaps, in that moment, the cosmos had reached the pinnacle of perfect harmony or the stars were aligned in total agreement, whatever the reason, Isabela found her release. A virgin had made the seasoned pirate come undone. Afterwards she lay like a ragdoll, limp and completely relaxed.

Sol was there to wipe away one of her stray tears. "I have discovered that sometimes we only find ourselves when we are out of our element or..." he whispered and kissed one of her closed eyelids. "When we are scared shitless." She stared up at him partly amused, but also terrified that he, of all people, was capable of bringing out her emotions. "You saved me from the gallows, Isabela." A strand of her black hair flitted through his fingers. "And I saved you from the magister. If this is about being even, then we are, although..." His smile widened. "There are three more things I would like to show you. I cannot promise it will be perfect but it will at least be textbook standard."

"Come here," Isabela whispered.

For the first time in more years than she could remember, Isabela was caught in a web of intimacy that was mixed with equal portions of pleasure and emotion. But, she was determined it would remain a one night affair and nothing more. Solivitus, however, had other plans.


	32. Chapter 32: Talking to Ghosts

Back after technical difficulties ;) If my stories get purged I will be moving them to adult fanfiction, ao3 and probably to a an LJ. If it happens I'll post a link. Feel bad for everyone who has had their stories taken down:/

Thank you for all the reviews, favs, alerts and wonderful support especially to those people who read from beginning to end. Lots of love to you and to you all!

Long time no post. I needed a break, but now I am back. :D

Story continues. Ignore what I said before :)

Thank you so much everyone :D

* * *

><p>Chapter 32: Talking to Ghosts<p>

The magisters stood in a line, five of them waiting for his arrival. In the distance they heard the click of his staff against the courtyard's sun dried bricks. Fifteen years they had sought him with only hearsay and occasional sighting as their guide. It had always led to naught.

They watched him now with keen interest, the man who had defeated the legendary magister Cassius. _What power this mage must wield to kill a man some deemed invincible,_ they had whispered amongst each other behind closed doors. Long had they secretly envied and feared Accipiter.

Accipiter stopped. He stood before them in his brown Circle robes of old, the same he had worn the day he had fought magister Cassius in battle and won. The magisters were insulted by his display of arrogance.

One magister stepped forth. Radimus was his name and Accipiter knew him well. "You have finally been found, Accipiter."

Accipiter threw back his cowl. The magisters took in the sight of him, their eyes wide, full of wonderment as if one of the old gods stood before them.

"I allowed you to find me, you fool," Accipiter spoke. From his robes an amulet emerged. He held it aloft for the magisters to see. "But you will not have this power, Radimus. This _thing_," he said with disgust, "should never have been created."

The prize was in their sights. Each magister readied his staff, eager to relinquish Accipiter's hold on the item. "Do you expect to survive this conflict?" Radimus asked. How the magister had waited and dreamed of this moment to finally have this man, his traitorous friend stand before him.

Accipiter's eyebrow rose. "No, and neither will you."

A raging white light engulfed the vision and Fenris was forced to close his eyes. He was still in the Fade, that much was certain, but Marian was gone. A force had pulled him away from her side and presented him with this odd memory.

"Accipiter," Fenris whispered. The Arcanum word rolled off of his lips and he knew at once its meaning. "Hawke."

Fenris studied his surroundings. He was now standing in the doorway of a kitchen. Pots and pans, herbs and several cutting boards hung from racks attached to the ceiling. There was a handsome oak hutch in the corner lined with dainty dishes, and cupboards filled with different sundries. The wooden floor was warm beneath his feet heated by an open fireplace dancing with flames that burned bright and blue; the color of magic.

While he considered the room, his fingers found their way down the door frame where they discovered a carved letters in the wood. He followed the carving to the end and the name Marian was revealed. Fenris looked down then, his inquisitive nature getting the better of his senses, and he noted the names Carver, Bethany and Marian. They had been carved into the wooden frame by a skilled hand, a woodcarver's hand, and by each, a line indicated their height. This, he understood, was a memory of Hawke's home in Lothering.

A voice that rumbled like thunder startled Fenris. A man was sitting at the table, the same man he had seen battle Meredith; Marian's father.

"That was my death," Malcolm Hawke stated with no hint of loss. "I thought you should see, perhaps it will dampen the blow for what I will say later."

"Is this a dream or a memory?" Fenris asked. "I feel... disoriented."

Malcolm took a sip of his tea. His eyes studied Fenris, languid in their appraisal and intelligent in their discernment. "For an aggravating, overprotective father this is a dream come true. For you, my possible son-in-law, I believe it could be your worst nightmare." The gray-headed mage smiled and it was Marian's smile, the one Fenris missed and wished to see again.

Since her birth, Malcolm had protected Marian with a fierceness reserved for lions. When it became apparent that she was a mage he secretly mourned as if she had died. Demon temptation, templar oppression, fear and self righteous judgment from others was the existence of a mage; a life of hardship. He had never wanted this... _curse_ passed on to his children. Unfortunately, his two daughters had been branded for life. So, Malcolm had taught them how to stay hidden from the eyes of the Chantry, and raised them to not fear their gift, but to use it for the betterment of others. It was for those reasons, Malcolm questioned why his daughter had chosen to romantically involve herself with a mage-hating broody elf.

"You expect me to believe that you are not a demon, but Marian's long dead father?" Fenris crossed his arms over his chest. "You must take me for a fool."

Malcolm did not respond well to accusations or intimidation, rather, he simply did not respond. That alone often deflated a person's bravado. "Marian believes that I am her father." He appeared to show more interest in his dwindling cup of tea than for the current conversation. "You are obviously not convinced."

"I do not believe she is currently capable of making wise decisions," Fenris said. He laid his hands upon the table, opposite Malcolm and stared into his eyes, daring him to disagree. "I will not stand by and have her foully treated by some unknown entity. Not again."

Malcolm nodded. "I agree with you," he said to Fenris's astonishment. "Marian has always been level-headed, but I question her judgment now." Fenris was uncertain whether Malcolm meant her choice in men or her recent behavior. "To see her irrevocable damaged has brought me to tears. Maker..." the breath caught in the back of his throat as he spoke. "I am thankful that she still lives."

The mage's somber words had fallen heavily on the room and it felt rude to speak, as if it would be an insult to the quiet, but Fenris needed answers.

"If you are not a demon then what are you?" Fenris carefully asked. "Dead men, to my knowledge, do not live in the Fade and randomly possess people."

He shrugged. "I am Malcolm Hawke," the mage reiterated. "I am not here to convince you of anything." The words were delivered like a warrior's call to his foe, but as quickly as his ire had been raised it had dissipated. Malcolm placed his teacup carefully onto the table. "All I ask is that you listen. What harm can come of that?"

Fenris considered the question before offering a reply. This puzzled Malcolm. He was a decisive man unappreciative of delay. "In years past I would have said no harm could come of listening to another man's words, but to my shame, I fell prey to the offer of a demon once and turned on Marian," He looked away ashamed by his admission. When his eyes met Malcolm's they were defiant. "But that will never happen again."

"I offer you nothing," Malcolm stated, his voice devoid of emotion. "You may listen or leave."

Fenris stared at the blue flames while he mulled over his decision. Most people, he knew, would listen. He was not being restrained or threatened. So why did he hesitate? A _demon is quick to make promises in exchange for dirty deeds. This man has said nothing to make me believe that he is lying. But, perhaps, his amiable personality is something I should fear more than blatant persuasion. _

"I will listen," Fenris finally said. "But if I believe you to be a demon, I will kill you." The words were spoken without remorse. "I only wish to understand if you are a threat to Marian. Anything else is charity on my part._"_

Malcolm gestured to a chair. "Then let us hope I do not give you cause to try." A dangerous smirk formed on his lips. "That would be unfortunate for us both."

Fenris's eyes narrowed. "You ask me to listen and then threaten me? Do you think I am so easily intimidated?"

"No," Malcolm replied, humored by the idea. "I daresay a man of your capabilities is rarely bothered by threatening insinuation, especially when it is spoken by a dead mage." There was a pause and then a smile emerged, devious and playful. "Which, I assume, is your favorite type of mage?"

Against his better judgment, Fenris smirked. The demon, man, father of Marian was hard to outright hate. Fenris focused his mind elsewhere, still convinced that it may be a trap. "Where is Marian?" he finally asked.

"Waiting for me to finish my interrogation," Malcolm stated, slight humor ringing in his words. "She is well, if that is your concern."

"If any harm comes to her..."

"Then we would both be extremely angry," Malcolm said after he had taken a sip of his tea. The mage had succeeded in annoying Fenris further with his unhurried response. "You are extremely impatient for an elf."

Fenris rolled his eyes. "And you have known many?"

"Yes, I have," Malcolm said, clearly satisfied with his antagonistic answer. "Many were close friends." He smiled and it was warm, lacking the aggravating undertone of his usual comments. "I have always admired your people's ability to endure."

This was not a comment Fenris had expected. A retort eluded him and he was forced to change the subject for fear of accepting the compliment.

"You... that was you in the vision I witnessed, was it not?" Fenris hurriedly blurted out before Malcolm was allowed to say more. "What connection do you have with Tevinter and the magisters?" The next question, if he were honest, had the potential to effect his relationship with Marian. "Were you a magister?"

"No, definitely not," Malcolm stated in a venomous tone. The force of the reply alarmed Fenris and he found that he had unconsciously taken a step backwards, away from the table. "I was part of the Minrathous Circle, the "experimental" part, the place that was hidden from the world." Malcolm looked up from his tea and into Fenris's eyes. "A mage made to serve a magister's whims."

For Fenris, this was too close to home, it was home. He began to question why Marian had never spoken of her father's connection to Tevinter, and then he remembered. Malcolm had told no one from where he originally came, not even his wife. It was clear he had wanted his past to remain hidden. Perhaps, he had done so in order to leave the pain behind, to not burden his family with the enormity of what it meant to live that lowly existence. Fenris could appreciate that decision.

"Freedom's price is never cheap, but that was a hundred leagues and a lifetime ago," Malcolm's voice was ghostly, like a strong wind howling through the eaves. His face was gaunt and Fenris sensed death in the room. This being, whatever he may be, was an echo of a memory more than a person. It was not tangible. "Those were my words when Leandra asked about my life before Kirkwall and the same I said to my children when they would ask."

Fenris was aware that mages in Tevinter Circles were subjected to extreme abuse. He had seen it firsthand from Danarius and, ashamedly, he had performed vicious acts at the request of his former master. This was something he had no intention of revealing to Malcolm.

"To live in a place where magic is regaled and to be a mage, yet be subjugated by your own kind, is a humiliation few can fathom," Malcolm said. He waved his hand in an attempt to forestall Fenris's inevitable objection. "Do not misunderstand. I have never envied magisters or the likes of any who would participate in such cruelty. My friends," he said in a wispy voice, "I watched most of them die unspeakable deaths at the hands of a select group of templars. I suppose it may be hard for you to accept Chantry involvement."

"This was at the request of the Divine?" Fenris asked. "I... would question if she would sanction such abuse, even if it meant better control over mages."

"Yes... perhaps, who is to say? One thing is for certain, the responsibility falls upon the shoulders of the leader. Whether the Divine is informed or not, ultimately she will suffer the blame if... the abuse is ever revealed."

"I must ask: why did you bring me here?" Fenris decided to change the subject. A discussion with a mage concerning their uncouth treatment would lead to an argument. "I assume there is a valid reason?"

"Yes," Malcolm said. "The amulet, the one that you wear, aided in my escape from Tevinter."

_Is this what he wants, the amulet?_ Fenris noticed that it was around his neck even in the Fade.

Fenris tired of standing and sat across from Malcolm. "You expect me to believe that you once wore the amulet that I currently possess? Do you know how implausible that sounds?" He huffed. "You are either the dumbest demon to inhabit the Fade or you are telling the truth."

Malcolm smiled. "That is for you to decide." His face grew melancholy. "It is important I speak regardless of whether you believe me or not. Your life and Marian's is bound to this amulet now."

"Why am I not surprised?" Fenris shook his head and sighed. From the beginning he had known Marian was trouble, attracted trouble and caused it. But the same could be said of him. The difficulty was watching the person he loved become compromised and hurt for reasons that did not warrant the risk. That had always been the Hawke way, he suspected.

"I am listening," Fenris said.

"When I was in the Minrathous Circle I became acquainted with a man named Radimus. He was an enchanter, not one of us living in the dank basement beneath the gallows," Malcolm said. "Radimus had an uncanny ability to find powerful mages. Unfortunately, I drew his attention."

To hear Malcolm speak of a man charged with finding powerful mages was not a revelation. Magisters often tested their abilities against dispensable mages, to keep their prowess in battle sharp and to do away with a mage who may be stronger. It was a precautionary measure enforced in the most brutal ways.

"If you were any other mage, I would accuse you of boasting but I have seen Marian's abilities firsthand. Her power is extraordinary." Fenris drummed his fingers on the table while he considered Malcolm's words. _He could be the son of a disgraced magister. The children are usually sent to the Circle after their parent's death. _"I have always wanted to know if there is a reason why you and your daughter are so particularly talented?"

Malcolm noted the suggestive nature of the question. "I know what it is that you ask, though you mask it with what appears to be idle curiosity" he said with no hesitation. "But that is a discussion for another time."

Fenris's favorite perturbed eyebrow rose. "I see."

"My family history is of no importance," Malcolm stated, apologetically. "If you want a future with Marian, then you will listen." He tapped the table with his index finger after each of his statements. "I do not, she does not and you especially do not have the time to squabble over every infinitesimal detail."

"Do not forget that I am still trying to determine if you are demon or man," Fenris spat. "This could all be some elaborate ploy to get this amulet, or worse, our cooperation in an abominable act."

Malcolm rose from his chair in such haste that it tipped backwards. He began to pace in front of the fire. "Right now, as I speak, there are five magisters searching for Marian. They want the amulet and they will find it."

"Why would they want it?" Fenris asked. "I was told that a mage could not wear it, that it would literally rip them apart."

"It was my doing," Malcolm said. "I made certain that no magister could wield it again but... in my haste, I did not foresee the possibility that the magic would reverse and open a permanent doorway to the Fade." The blank expression on Fenris's face made it apparent that he did not understand. "When I used my own magic to destroy the magisters and myself, the amulet absorbed it and its properties changed."

_Mages and their meddling, _Fenris thought_. Why does this none of this surprise me? All these years, Marian has spoken her father's words of wisdom and now, I am finding, if this is indeed him, that he is no better than any other mage. I was a fool to think he would be different._

"So, tell me, though I would rather not know, how did this come about?" Fenris asked. "You mentioned an enchanter and his ability to find powerful mages. What does that have to do with any of this?"

"Everything," Malcolm whispered. He walked to a nearby window and stared out of it, his back to Fenris. "Radimus presented me to magister Cassius. This particular magister was a cruel bastard, feared by not only us, but by his own peers. We sparred, if that is what you would call it, so he could taste of my magic, as he liked to say." Fenris recognized the tone in Malcolm's voice. It was the same in his own voice when he spoke of Hadrianna and Danarius.

"He tortured you," Fenris said as an addendum to Malcolm's inability to state the obvious. "You were only allowed to use meager spells while he cast spells at full strength, I suspect."

Malcolm continued to stare out of the window. "Correct," he whispered. Fenris respected it was not easy for the mage to speak of his memories. It was an all too familiar scenario and it surprised and irritated him to hear a shadow of himself in Malcolm's words. "I withstood longer than most and managed to impress the magister. It was then, Radimus took a keen interest in me." Malcolm sighed. "I should have heeded my own warnings and ignored him, but I did not. I was a coward."

"What did you say?" Fenris was adamant Malcolm answer.

"I was a coward," Malcolm said over his shoulder. "Does it bring you some sort of sick pleasure to know a mage suffered like a slave, like you?"

"No," Fenris adamantly stated. "I do not find the suffering of others pleasurable, regardless of whether they are a mage or not. Your daughter has tempered my hate."

Fenris could make out a small smirk on the mage's face from where he sat. "She is a marvel," Malcolm said. "I should continue... we have little time before she must leave the Fade."

"I am eager to return to her side," Fenris said. There was genuine concern in every word. "She..." He could not finish the sentence. It was more emotion than he was willing to give away. "Please just continue."

"Magister Cassius grew fond of me after I managed to live through weeks of his grueling tests. I was moved from living in a cesspit of excrement and mutilated bodies to his estate." This unnerved Fenris. Was Malcolm to become Cassius's apprentice? It seemed unlikely since slaves were rarely granted that reward. Thoughts of Varania and her treachery began to plague his mind. If she was willing to betray her own brother to become Danarius's apprentice why would Malcolm be any different? "I had a bed, a room that I shared only with Radimus and the smell of death and the constant threat of torture was no longer the foremost thought on my mind."

"What was on your mind?" Fenris asked, slight accusation lingering in the question. He had become suspicious.

Malcolm turned then to face him. "Escape," he simply said. "I was not conditioned like a slave. Cassius had overlooked this matter. Radimus and I became friends. In the course of time, we began to talk in 'what ifs and how tos' at first. What if we escaped? How would we do it? Then, one day he had formed a solid plan." Malcolm rubbed his forehead and his head titled to the ceiling and his eyes closed. "Radimus was a great enchanter, but his magic was limited to that specific task. I, however, had the power to charge an object that he believed could make it possible for us to escape."

"The amulet?" Fenris asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Yes," Malcolm confirmed. "Together we created the soul-eater. It was intended to serve one purpose and then be destroyed after our escape." Malcolm's eyes fixated on the amulet hanging from Fenris's neck. He scowled at it with such intensity Fenris felt as if the mage was trying to bore a hole right through his chest. "The amulet has the power to trap the magic and the souls of other mages, as you and Marian have unfortunately discovered. The mage cuts his wrist, allows the blood to be absorbed by the amulet and then the victims blood. Their soul is trapped inside and their magic enhances the power of the mage wearing it. Eventually, the enhancement wears thin, diminishes, and the victim becomes trapped in the Fade, whether their body lives or not."

Fenris became alarmed. "Wait... what about Marian?"

"She is still strong enough to bridge the gap," Malcolm said. His reassurance did nothing to quell Fenris's fears The thought of her lingering in the Fade forever was a terrifying thought. "We decided that Radimus should wear the amulet. His magic was not as strong as mine. Cassius was our first victim, something I almost do not regret. I brought him near death, cut him and his blood was absorbed by the amulet. The effects were immediate and then..." Malcolm paused. "I slit his throat."

"You used blood magic and you wonder why this amulet is now a problem?" Fenris said, anger rising in his voice. "It is always the same with mages. Is it a wonder that the templars take extreme actions?"

Malcolm turned on him. "Judge if you must, but I daresay you would have done the same to your master given the chance." The mage took a deep breath. Guilt had driven him to anger. "The magisters and the templars experimented on us. Brought us near death and back again, impregnated women with seed of their own fathers to see if it would strengthen the magic in the child, bled us, mutilated us, and lest I forget, infused us with lyrium until many of us convulsed to death."

"I... apologize for my wayward comment," Fenris said. The sentiment was real, but it fell flat after Malcom's charged revelation into his previous life. "I understand your agony," he whispered and, he did.

"Needless to say, by the time we had finished draining magisters and their apprentices, Radimus was incomprehensibly powerful beyond the reckoning of any mage in Tevinter, perhaps all of Thedas." Malcolm said and he questioned whether he should continue. He had carried this burden during his life and into his death. It had to come out, it needed to come out if it meant Marian's safety. "When we reached the edge of town, I looked back and I saw the trail of death and destruction we had caused in the name of freedom." The room fell silent. Malcolm stared deeply into the fire, reliving the memory as if it were happening. "Once we were safely away, I asked Radimus to destroy the amulet. But he would not. Giving a powerless man power was always a risk." His head bowed and he sighed. "Thankfully, he had used much of the power he had gained during our escape. We fought and I won. I removed the amulet and left him for dead and headed for the Free Marches."

"Why did you not destroy it?" Fenris asked.

"I tried," Malcolm said. "Any magic I used, it absorbed. No enchanter could disenchant it. I threw it in the hottest forge, it would not melt. I even hit the thing with a bloody big hammer and it would not break. Whatever material it is made from and the secret of its undoing was Radmus's secret. For many years it laid buried."

"You buried it?" Fenris asked. "You buried an amulet that can suck the souls out of its victims? And why did you think this was a good idea?"

"I would not wear it," Malcolm said. "I had seen the corruption it caused Radimus. Carrying it in my pocket was obviously not an option. I knew that if I died it could easily fall into the wrong hands. I did what I thought best and buried it inside a box near Sundermount, where few would dare travel. There it remained for nearly fifteen years undisturbed until the day Radimus came."

"I thought he was dead?" Fenris said and gave him a suspicious glance.

"So did I," Malcolm said. "The day after our escape the Tevinter hunters found him, and delivered him to the Imperum. But, instead of a painful death, a particularly powerful magister, who had opposed Cassius, made him an apprentice. In return, Radimus would create another amulet. But..." Malcolm rubbed his weary eyes. "Unfortunately, for me he could not do it. He needed my magic."

"Why your magic?" Fenris asked.

"I cannot say," Malcolm said. "Rather, I will not say at this time." Malcolm raised his hand to stop Fenris from asking further questions. Their time was running short. "So, they began to search for me. Eventually, with the aid of the templars and their phylactery, Radimus almost found me in Denerim while I was buying supplies. I knew then I had to face him and the magisters. I had to find a way to make certain they could not use the amulet. Most of all," A sad smile formed on his lips. "I had to keep my family safe."

"Why did you show me your death?" Fenris said. "It must be important."

"It is," Malcolm stated. You must understand the danger associated with this amulet," He neared the table and faced Fenris. "I charged it with every ounce of magical energy I possessed in the hopes it would not only kill the magisters, but be destroyed in the process. It survived and we perished. Since I was the last to wield it, my magic was trapped and eventually used by Lord Burgamond."

"It was your magic that was used to attack me?" Fenris asked, anger rising in his words. "I... this is unbelievable."

"Thankfully, yes," Malcolm said. He could not stop a smirk from escaping at the sight of Fenris's appalled expression.

"For some reason I was expecting an apology," Fenris said.

Malcolm quietly laughed, but it faded quickly. "If it had been Marian's magic, she would now be trapped in the Fade with me. Very little, if any, of her magic and essence was used. But there will be consequences even if it was a small amount."

"Consequences?" Fenris said and the concern was evident. "What does that mean?"

"It is hard to say," Malcolm said. He was disappointed with his own answer. "I suspect, besides the obvious damage to her body, that she will be unable to cast magic for some time, perhaps... never again."

For someone who detested magic, Fenris was surprised to find that he was upset by the prospect of Marian losing her magical ability. It defined who she was to a degree, gave her confidence, saved people, and she, unlike every mage he had known, used it only for the betterment of others. Obviously, a lesson she learned well even though the mage who had taught it was a hypocrite.

"How did Burgamond come to possess the amulet?" Fenris asked against his better judgment. At this point, he decided it was best to know the whole story.

"Once Marian made a name for herself and the stories of the Champion of Kirkwall reached the Tevinter shores, Lavintus and Aramen became interested," Malcolm said. "The name 'Hawke' had not been forgotten but the amulet had been lost. They began to inquire with the one contact they could trust: Burgamond."

"They obviously made the connection that Marian was your daughter," Fenris said. A deep scowl brimming with hatred marred his fair features. "They did this to her for revenge?"

Malcolm walked back to the window. His shoulders dropped and it sounded as if it took effort for him to speak. "Perhaps, it was revenge, though doubtful since none of them suffered by my hand. I suspect it was for her magic. It is as powerful as mine, if not more so, and they were aware of that fact."

"So, now we have an amulet that cannot be destroyed and is being desperately sought after by powerful magisters of the Imperium." Fenris said. "Lavintus may be dead, but Aramen is not and he will be leading the hunt for it. I need not tell you about the resources he has at his disposal."

"No you need not," Malcolm said. "It is up to you, Fenris, to find a way to destroy the amulet and keep Marian safe. I cannot continue to possess people. It... may lead to temptation. I may find that I will not willingly leave a body or kill it and return to the Fade."

Fenris mouthed the word 'great' as he became resigned to the fact this burden would fall on his shoulders. "Does Marian know?" he asked. He tried to restrain his anger, but the words revealed it. "Have you told her about any of this?"

"She knows very little," Malcolm said to his shame. "I did not wish to burden her with this since she has yet to complete the transition back to her body."

Fenris scoffed. "I want a detailed account of your exploits so I know what messes of yours I will have to clean up in future," he said, irritation ringing in every word. "First, Corypheus and now this... disaster."

"You are justified in your anger," Malcolm said.

"Damned right," Fenris replied. "But I need not say more. I suspect the guilt alone has been punishment enough for you and I would not see you suffer."

Malcolm nodded. Every day since his death he had worried what would become of his family. It was not until Marian entered the Fade via the amulet that he learned of their fates. All was gone except his one daughter. Now, her life was threatened because of his rash actions years ago. "I was reckless until I met Leandra. After she agreed to leave Kirkwall with me my life changed and from that day onwards I wished only to keep her and eventually our children safe." He gestured to the back door. "You should go to her now," he said. "The day grows late and she needs to return."

"Thank you," Fenris spoke.

"For what?" Malcolm asked.

"For telling me," Fenris said. "This cannot have been easy for you. You have Marian's respect, therefore you have mine, but I will not hide this from her if you choose to say nothing. There are no secrets between us."

"You should go now, Fenris," Malcolm said, the words rushing forth. "Keep her safe."

"Always," Fenris replied and with a respectful nod, he walked out of the door and found that he was standing once again in Marian's imagined bedroom. She was asleep.

Fenris brushed a stray hair from her face and kissed her once on the forehead. "Marian, it is time," he delicately whispered in her ear.

She rustled beneath the blanket, her eyes fixed on his as she arose from the bed. "Fenris? Where have you been?"

"To see your father," Fenris said. "He said that you knew I was with him."

"Yes," Marian said lazily. "This place makes you forget. It has a way of losing time and stopping memories."

"That is why it is important you return to your body," Fenris said. "I can feel myself waking." He took her in his arms and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I will be at your side."

Marian rubbed her eyes. The Fade had made her weary and she no longer thought in terms of waking but in fragments like most dreams. "Fenris is that you?"

He kissed her once more. "I must go, Marian."

She smiled, that smile he loved best and walked away from him into another place of her own making. The meadow in the distance started to fill the bedroom until it swallowed the scene and Fenris found he was standing on grass. For as long as he was able, he watched Marian pick flowers and walk without care through the meadow and into the forest. He wished that it was real, that he could somehow make it a reality, so she could remain carefree if only for another day. But soon he would return and commit an act that he dreaded more than returning to a life of slavery. She had told him how to return her essence to the world of the living. He would drain her blood, spill it onto the amulet, until she was near death, and in doing so, she would be jerked from the Fade back into the waking world.


	33. Chapter 33: Breakfast in Bed

First off, my apologies to everyone. I made a mess of things. I am continuing this story as if it never stopped... abruptly... previous chapter. *embarrassed*

Lyrium Ghost II is now Lyrium Ghost I. If it ends up being one story of 300 chapters, so be it. Thanks to everyone for you support and patience! I am going to finish this story if it kills me and it might!

**Chapter 33: Breakfast in Bed**

* * *

><p>Isabela opened one lazy eye. The omnipresent smell of food had awoken her from a nightmare, one that involved a fisherman's hook and her as the bait. The dream had often haunted her sleep. It started the day she stole a jewel encrusted tackle box, complete with golden lures, from an eccentric Antivan merchant.<p>

On the bedside table sat a plate of sausage, eggs and her favorite morning snack: toast. It was accompanied by a small folded note. _Now I wonder who could have left this here, _Isabela mused_._ She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her breasts toppled forward and out of the blanket she had lightly wrapped around her body. The two behemoths, much like her, were unruly when not tied up. _Good morning to you too, breasts. _The note was written on a half sheet of parchment. From past experience, obsessive poets used at least three sheets to declare their undying love and the others, well… the brothel was not known for its literary scholars. Since it was doubtful that it was bad poetry, she opened it without further delay. It said:

It's just breakfast, Isabela. If you were a man you might consider it a sign of commitment, but for a refined and cultured lady pirate, such as yourself, it's just my way of saying thank you for a great evening. Don't read too much into it.

Sol

P.S.

I hope I made the toast to your liking. One of the sailors told me that pirates are very picky about their toast.

Isabela caressed the note like one would do a lover's skin. Sol had pleased her sexually last night, and brought forth emotions that she typically reserved for the newly deceased and the occasional broken nail. Not a man. The crux of the situation was that Sol had bruised her ego. She had been hoodwinked by his bookwormish sexual knowledge, and now he was compounding the situation with perfect toast. For that reason she could not, in good conscience, eat her lovingly prepared crusty bread. What would it mean if she did? Would accepting his eggs, sausage and toast send a message to Sol that she was committed to something more than a good time? She pushed the plate away. No, Isabela would not risk it. She would keep her life uncomplicated and fun and have the freedom to do as she pleased without pesky attachment issues from a mage, breakfast or no.

Knickers on the bedpost, tunic on the ceiling beam and her boots on either side of the room, yes it had been a good night. Every location of her clothing told a different kinky story. She grabbed her garments and dressed, confident that she had assessed the situation, understood her error, and was now once again fully in charge of her romantic affairs. To be considerate, she took one bite of the toast. It was the least she could for Sol.

The pirate fixed her favorite blue bandana over her hair and then she suddenly laughed. Sol had teased her that now he had plundered her hold, he would start wearing her bandana around his wrist like Fenris did for Hawke. The fun they had together almost made her feel bad for the amount of coin she had stolen from his potion stand over the years. Even if she did confess her thievery to Sol, she was certain he would not care in the slightest. 'The money', she could hear him say in her mind, 'went to the templars, not to me, besides if you needed the coin you only had to ask.' Sol's good nature and his inability to stay angry for longer than an hour infuriated Isabela's pirate queen persona. However, the woman behind that mask saw it as a challenge.

Isabela stopped short of opening the door. She hesitated, and then speculatively looked over her shoulder at the breakfast sitting on top of the bedside table. The sausage and eggs were cold, she smiled, but the toast... "It's just breakfast," she whispered. The words had tumbled out of her mouth sounding happier than she had meant them to be said. Whatever 'it' was, it wasn't just breakfast and she knew it. Isabela walked back to the bed and grabbed the once bitten piece of toast. She examined it. The browning was even, unmarred by scorch marks, and the crackle of the crust consistent. Time had been taken in its preparation, only love and dedication could create such a magnificent piece of toast. Against her better judgment and the little voices screaming in her head to stop, Isabela ate both pieces of the toast, and she did not regret it. She brushed the crumbs away, deliberately onto Sol's bed and headed down the ship's narrow hallway.

The door to Marian and Fenris's cabin was open. This was an opportunity to spy and take advantage of someone's momentary lapse of judgment. No one had been allowed to see Marian and very few people had seen Fenris since they had boarded the ship. Sol, to her annoyance, would not say why.

Isabela could hear Sol and Fenris speaking in hushed tones. The rogue used her years of experience to maneuver around loose and noisy floorboards, until she was able to look inside the room without being noticed.

Fenris, she could see, was holding Marian in his arms. He was whispering in her ear, rapidly repeating the same phrase again and again. Every word was spoken in Arcanum, a language that annoyed Isabela more than the Quanari, but only because she was too lazy to learn it.

Marian's eyes were open and moving, but focusing on nothing, not even the sound of Fenris's voice. There was a bucket below Marian's arm full of blood and around it the floor was covered in splashes of raindrop red.

Sol leapt from his seat. "Not now, Isabela," he said kindly, in a soft neutral voice and he shut the door in her face.

_Just like that_! Isabela laid her hands on her hips_. No wink, no gawking, not even a smile. _She let out a noise that was a mix between a huff and a snort. _He didn't even look at my tits. _"Bastard," she whispered.

Isabela banged on the door. Inside she heard a sound, a low wailing that reminded her of a hurt cat in the alleyway. It was Marian.

"If she does it again..." she heard Fenris say between gritted teeth.

Sol stopped the elf from finishing his threat. "She is simply concerned and nosey." Isabela's mouth dropped at the insult and she gaped at the door. "I will explain the situation to her in a moment, Fenris."

There was a pair of hurried footsteps above deck. The distinct clinking noise of glass grew in intensity. Donnic walked carefully down the stairs onto the lower deck and emerged with a pitcher of water and a tray full of glasses.

"Are you serving drinks?" Isabela asked, her lip upturned into a smirk. "I could do with a shot of rum." The truth was, after seeing Marian's weight in blood in a bucket, alcohol would be welcomed. If there had been an inkling of doubt in her mind concerning Fenris and Sol's intentions towards Marian, she would have barged into the room, daggers blazing. But, Fenris was a man deeply in love, anyone could see it if they looked past his brooding and murderous scowl.

Donnic gestured to the cabin with his head. "Is she fully awake yet?" he asked. When his eyebrows raised and knitted together in a show of consternation, Isabela saw more ape than man. He was overly hairy and blessed with bushy sideburns, the making of a great pirate. Isabela found him extremely kind and unbeknownst to most, she considered him a trustworthy friend.

Six glasses full to the brim sat evenly on the tray. "I fetched some water in case she was thirsty."

"How many glasses of water do you think she is going to want and at a time?" Isabela said.

The door behind Isabela swung open and swiftly shut. Sol gestured with his head for Donnic and Isabela to follow him. The usual naughty remark was forming on Isabela's lips. It was her way of dealing with stress. But with a shake of his head, Sol made certain that she understood not to speak. The three friends walked into the adjacent cabin together.

Sol paced a few steps, stopped and then paced again. The remaining tufts of his hair that had not been singed were flapping around, looking as annoyed as he appeared to be. But Isabela wondered if it really was annoyance. Was Sol going to be angry with her for eavesdropping? She watched him, the man that had her confused and coiled tight as a spring, and she noticed that his taught thin lips had already begun to relax.

"I thought it would be best if I explained the situation, to ensure that Marian and Fenris remain undisturbed for the remainder of the journey," Sol said. He looked pointedly at Isabela. "I know that you are both concerned, but we really should leave them alone."

Donnic placed the tray of glasses and pitcher of water on a small table in the corner. When Fenris had awoken after his drug induced visit to the Fade, he asked Donnic to retrieve Sol. He had done so without question, and since then, most of what had happened during Fenris's waking hours had been withheld. For the best part of the morning, Donnic had questioned whether or not he should insist on more details. In the end, instinct had prevailed and he decided to trust in Fenris's judgment.

Isabela approached Sol with hands on hips. "So, what's going on?" she asked in a demanding voice. "And why am I not invited?"

The added pout made Sol smirk at the feisty woman. "Trust me, there is no fun to be had in that cabin."

"What can you tell us, Sol?" Donnic asked. "Any details would be welcomed."

The tired mage eased his weary body down onto the bed. His fingers interlaced and his head bowed, like a man in prayer. The shadows of his looming friends cast him in darkness.

"Fenris returned from the Fade with answers that I had decided to trust, even against my better judgment." Sol shook his head. He still could not believe that he had agreed to aid Fenris in what he considered a bizarre ritual. "Marian told him to cut her wrist and place the amulet in her bloodstream so that her essence would have a path back to her body."

The inevitable objection sounded from Isabela. "And you listened to him? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"I have been trying to wake her for weeks," Sol said. "To be honest, his explanation made sense, though... I initially had my doubts."

"Maker's breath," Donnic whispered, unsure he wanted to hear the rest. "That was not a decision to be made lightly. Fenris could have been tricked by a demon, or worse, possessed."

These thoughts had crossed Sol's mind while Fenris explained the procedure. He understood why Isabela and Donnic were questioning his decision, but it was damn annoying. They had not been placed in this predicament, or made the sole authority on an unprecedented magical subject. Fenris forced him into this role because of his mistrust of Anders and Merrill. The mistrust, he felt, had been earned and was not misplaced, but if he had failed to save Marian, the blame would have fallen squarely on his shoulders. It was a problem he had been willing to live with, a strange thank you for all Marian had done to help him in years past. Thankfully, his gamble had paid off.

"The blood acted like a bridge, you see," Sol answered to his impatient friends. He understood they would not let the subject alone until their curiosity was sated. The best he could do for Marian and Fenris now was to keep the others at bay. Isabela did not see, nor did she believe this explanation was going to be satisfactory. "It took longer than expected and she almost died twice. But then the amulet flashed and we knew she was once again whole. I poured elfroot over the open wound to aid in her recovery until I was satisfied it had been absorbed. She awoke, startled, in pain and then as quickly as her eyes had opened they shut," he sighed. "Now we wait.

Donnic did not ask for any further explanation. The laws of magic and uses were beyond his comprehension. All he could do was pray for Marian and support Fenris when and if he asked to speak.

The guardsman picked up the tray of glasses and pitcher of water. "Should I take these back to the galley or..."

Sol held up his hand. "No, please take them to Fenris. Tell him I said we should try and get her to drink if possible."

Donnic bowed his head and walked away from the room without another word. Sol and Isabela waited for the door to close before they began to speak.

"I should return," Sol said, the silence finally broken. "He will not admit it, but Fenris is in need of support. I have never seen him so tired."

He arose from the bed and headed for the door. Isabela stepped in front of him and blocked his path. "So that's all you have to say to me, then?" she asked.

Sol waved at her to move. The reason for this conversation, he knew, was to quell her insecurity and deflect from Marian's plight. "I don't have time for your fussiness, Isabela," he said. "I need to go to Marian and observe her closely."

"I bet," Isabela said, in a suggestive manner. "Hawke always gets the attention."

"This isn't funny," Sol said. "I have no idea if she will survive the night, never mind the journey to the vineyard."

Isabela picked at her nail. She was good at saying things she did not mean and great at regretting them later. "I... care about Hawke too." She looked away and up at the ceiling. Sol was convinced he had seen the beginning of a tear. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"I know," Sol said and he smiled down at the pirate. Isabela treasured his pleasant reaction, which she refused to admit. Like any good pirate, she buried that feeling and marked it with an X in case she decided to find it again later. "Go bury some treasure or bug a talkative parrot or sink a ship. Whatever it is you pirates do. Maker knows this ship could do with a bit of fun right now."

"Are you saying that is all I am good for?" Isabela asked, sincere and on the verge of being insulted.

Sol shook his head. "No," he said in an honest, gentle whisper. He was a man that did not jest when people's feelings were involved. "The ability to make people laugh and take their minds off of misery is a gift and you excel at it. It's one of the things I have always loved most about you."

She rolled her eyes. "Sol, why do you always have so many thoughts? It makes you boring."

Sol slapped Isabela on the ass. She jumped forwards, almost tripping over her own roguish feet. The shock on her face brought a smile out of Sol and he was able to use the distraction to walk away and into the hallway.

_What have I gotten myself into? _Isabela wondered_. Shit, fuck, damn, piss. Stupid balding mage and his stupid thoughtful answers. He should be tra-la-la-ing through meadows and picking his flowers and sipping his magical brew instead of annoying me... _She realized, grudgingly, that it had been her who had sought him._ Merrill, where is she? I need someone pure and innocent to corrupt._

Isabela walked down the hallway, adamant that she would not think about Sol again. But then she saw him sitting next to Fenris and she heard him say: "It is hard to fear that you may lose someone that you love." The pirate continued without stopping this time, wondering with each step if Sol was thinking of her when he had spoken.


	34. Chapter 34: Of Elves and Horses

**I put this on the first page but I decided to put it here too since it is new: **A great big thank you to Cloudywolf777 for the cover of the story! I have always admire this picture and it is a joy to have it on the cover.** The artist does commissions in case you are interested :D  
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**Some major plot developments in this chapter.  
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**I really appreciate all your support! I would not have continued this far without you, all of you. Thank you so much for the reviews, favs, alerts and all around groovy vibes you lot send out. Maker this story takes it out of me. This is one of those chapters where events happen that need to happen to move the story along. Hopefully, there is some fun in there. Next chapter, or the one following contains a major surprise, something I have been looking forward to writing for quite awhile. I never thought I'd get this far and it's all thanks to you my readers :DDD Thank you!  
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><p><strong>Lyrium Ghost Chapter 34: Of Elves and Horses<strong>

"This," Fenris threw the amulet onto a small table. "Is our newest problem." His companions eyed the jewelry, some with suspicion others in wonder. The center of the amulet was dim; the pinprick stars that had once lit it were gone.

Anders looked to Sol. "Can I…"

The herbalist nodded his head, reassuring him that the amulet could now be touched by a mage. "As long as it is not charged you can touch it," Sol said. "But… I would suggest not holding it for longer than necessary in case there are unforeseen consequences."

Anders held it aloft and studied it with an analytical eye, but as far as he could tell there was nothing extraordinary about it. "You are certain Hawke's essence was in here?"

"Yes," Fenris said in the harshest way possible. "She was in the amulet." He snarled much like Hawke's Mabari did when confronted by bandits or her Uncle Gamlen. "According to what I was told in the Fade, there are now five magisters searching for it."

Isabela swiped the amulet out of Ander's hand. "For this?" she said, uncertain why anyone would want something so gaudy. She held it between her fingers and outwards as if she were holding a smelly fish by the tail. "The big bad mages are coming all this way for a piece of dress jewelry?" Her lecherous eyes skimmed over Fenris's body. "I could understand when they were after you, but this?" She placed it against her chest and debated whether it would make a great fashion accessory. "You could never find a pair of earrings to match."

The pirate's overzealous perusal of Fenris's body did not go unnoticed by Sol. Most men would be angry, consider it cruel and callous, but not Sol. For years he had listened to Hawke speak about Isabela's exploits, both human and treasure. It had given him insight into her character and a deep understanding of the woman behind the flirtatious facade.

He had covertly observed Isabela all morning. While in his presence, she had attempted to flirt with anyone and everyone who was willing to listen, and when she thought Sol was not looking, she would sneak a glance to see if he was annoyed. It pained him to think he could never satisfy the woman, to be what she wanted now and forever. Her free spirit was the reason he had fallen for her in the first place. But still, he was not devoid of feelings. For now, until Sol figured out what he wanted, he was quite happy to play the game.

"Why are you smiling, Sol?" Isabela asked. The fact that he had yet to yell or start a fight out of blazing jealousy was infuriating for the pirate queen. _Is that it then? _She wondered_. He's ready to move on? _

Sol raised an eyebrow and schooled his face into a look of indifference. "Excuse me?" He said. "I was not smiling." She looked away abruptly and down at her fingernails. "We need to concentrate, Isabela."

Fenris pointed at the amulet and his voice became stern and unrelenting. "That piece of dress jewelry, as you so eloquently put it, Isabela, is the reason for this entire mess."

A slight sea breeze ruffled Fenris's hair. Everyone, the crew, his friends were standing on deck in the morning sun. They were hastily finishing off the preparations for their trip to Val Jouel. Anchor had been set sometime during the evening while Fenris slept with Marian cradled in his arms. The ship had docked near Nevin's house, the brother of Donnic, between Val Chevin and Cumberland. His eyes drifted from his companions and to a cot at the end of the deck where Marian lay undisturbed. He hoped even in her unconscious state, her body was finding the fresh sea air invigorating. Isabela had once told him it had the power to heal the soul, which at the time had made him scoff. Her pirate nonsense, as he considered it, was nothing more than delusional ramblings invented to remind her of the glory days of being a captain. But now, when he looked at Marian's sleeping form he hoped Isabela was right.

"Oh it is elvhen!" Merrill exclaimed out of the blue. Fenris and the others were horrified to see that the amulet was glowing in her hands. "Soul-eater? That is such an awful name for such a pretty amulet."

"What did you do?" Fenris wrenched the amulet out of Merrill's hands and placed it inside a small wooden box he had found in the ship's hold. He thought it was best if the thing remained out of sight. "Explain yourself."

The attention made Merrill blush. Her expression was one of a naughty child caught with a hand in a cookie jar, not a blood mage who had activated a soul eating amulet. "It was the markings you see. I whispered the words and the amulet started to glow."

Merrill pointed to several markings around the outside of the center crystal. She spoke slowly, careful to pronounce every distinct syllable and the amulet responded with a subtle glow. "It is ancient," Merrill said. She stared at Fenris unafraid of his coming response. "And it is… alive."

"Alive?" Anders asked. He had heard many strange explanations from Merrill over the years but this was the most outlandish. "It's a piece of jewelry enchanted with magic, not a small furry creature that you Dalish like to chase around."

"Oh but it is alive," Merrill said, adamant in her appraisal. "It may not have magic in it at this moment but it does have blood. I can sense it."

Solivitus placed the lid on top of the amulet's box. "No one should touch this or look at it again without great need," he said. The cryptic words unnerved all of his companions.

"What is wrong, Sol?" Fenris asked. When Sol was concerned everyone listened, especially Fenris. The mage had saved Marian's life three times, fought at his side, saved Isabela, healed wounds without complaint and held vigil over Marian when Fenris was no longer able to remain awake. "You were already uneasy, now you look terrified."

Sol began to pace and he drummed his fingers along his bottom lip while he formed an answer. "When I was first instructed in the art of enchantment I was given many books to read to aid in my advancement. One of those books spoke of the first archon, Thalsian and his use of blood magic." The rest of the explanation he dreaded to give partly because it sounded ridiculous and partly because it was going to anger Fenris. He gestured to the box where they amulet resided. "It stated that the first archon created items that held a life of their own, that lived. Unfortunately, several pages of Chantry dogma followed but I do remember that passage well."

"Charming," Anders said. He huffed and rubbed his forehead. "Leave it to the Chantry to omit information that might be pertinent to the very survival of humanity."

"Did you expect the templars to give us texts that endorsed the use of enchanting with blood magic?" Sol asked and his face was condescendingly whimsical. "It was meant to remind us of the blackening of the Golden City and why we should avoid temptation at all cost."

"You think this amulet belonged to the first Archon of the Imperium?" Fenris asked, his voice betrayed both his doubt and fear. "That is ridiculous. Besides, Merrill claims it is Elvhen not human."

"Has it not been said that the elves of Arlathan may have taught humans blood magic?" Sol would not have his observations easily dismissed. The possibility that they were dealing with an ancient evil needed to be considered. "What if this amulet has something to do with it? It could be the first blood enchanted amulet wielded by a magister or it could be the key to humanity's knowledge of blood magic."

Anders crossed his arms over his chest and he eyed Sol, skeptical and irritated by his conjecture. The truth was, Anders was jealous that no one asked for his opinion. "Historians have always argued whether it was the elves or the Old God Dumat who taught Thalsian blood magic. This amulet could simply be the invention of an ancient power hungry enchanter, one with extremely poor taste in fashion. We will never know for certain."

"No," Sol said. His eyes strayed to Marian's body at the end of the deck. "We may not know but _he_ will. I guess it is obvious Fenris, that he is keeping secrets."

Fenris understood that 'he' was Malcolm. "I have no way of confronting him unless he wishes to see me."

"Then we find a way," Sol stated, and to the others he appeared angry, but it was not anger, it was strong determination and the desire to protect those around him. He was fond of these people, considered them friends, some of them family whether they realized it or not. Marian's father may have been a loving man and a good husband but he was a questionable mage and that overwrote good intentions. "I will begin my research when we reach Val Jouel."

"Would someone mind telling me what you two are talking about?" Anders asked. This time he did not disguise his irritation. "You can't keep expecting us to blindly follow you and risk our lives without knowing what it is we face."

Fenris's eyes lifted and he stared at Anders with a look that could only be described as murderous. "Do not make demands of me, mage," he spat. Fenris believed Anders' reason for asking had nothing to do with the welfare of the others. No, it was to question his judgment, to throw doubt on their course of action and try to gain control. The man always cried foul when it wasn't his problem they were trying to solve.

"Oh goodie," Isabela said. "I knew it was about time for an argument." Sol watched with amusement as her signature saucy smile emerged. "I'd pay good money to see you two kiss and make up."

Donnic, who had been overseeing preparations, was once again aboard the ship. He had heard the end of the conversation, the beginning of an argument and decided to step forwards before it escalated. "It will have to wait," he said. "Nevin has the carriage packed and the horses ready. The templars are spreading the word that they seek to apprehend an elf with lyrium tattoos, and as an added bonus" he said in a sarcastic voice, "anyone who aids him will be killed on sight." Donnic had not been surprised by the news. He had expected an angry retort after the Knight-Commander was beaten and humiliated by a dwarf. "There's a high bounty on your head Fenris. We need to get you out of here before you are spotted."

The argument with Anders ceased to matter and as always, Fenris was thankful for Donnic's calm reasoning. "Is the carriage ready for Marian?" he asked.

"Yes," Donnic said. "We procured a carriage with a strong build and sturdy wheels from a nearby neighbor." He pointed to the hill in the distance where two figures stood looking in their direction. "Nevin's wife, Caroline, has seen to the arrangements."

Fenris bowed his head. The compassion and support Donnic had given over the last weeks had helped him to cope. He had become a symbolic brother to Fenris. "I am indebted to you and your family," Fenris said. "I will repay you."

Donnic held up his hand. _I knew he would say that. The man can never accept generosity without feeling he owes in return. _"If you truly want to repay me you can take the brunt of Aveline's wrath when she locates me."

"She doesn't know you are here?" Anders asked. This he found highly amusing. Donnic did not seem the type to disobey Aveline, who Anders thought of as a tyrant and an inept guard-captain. Her reign had not been particularly mage friendly and that put her on Anders list of oppressors. "Why didn't you tell her you were coming with us?"

Isabela smiled a bright smile. Moments like this were rare and she enjoyed that Aveline's tightly ordered and just world had just crumbled before her feet. She could not wait to hear this argument. "You do know big girl is going castrate you," Isabela said. "There won't be any more talk of children when she finds you."

"Yes, well my marital affairs are my own," Donnic said to everyone in order to forestall more questions. "I suggest we leave at once. Remember to bring only what you need."

"Did you…" Sol began to ask Donnic about the staff and book and then thought better of it in front of Fenris. "That is to say…"

Donnic simply nodded and walked away. Fenris, however, was not blind to the exchange. He had a fair idea what it meant, but his attention was focused on Marian. He lifted her covered body from the cot, pulled her close to his chest and disembarked over the gangway. The others, uncomfortable at the sight, looked away… that is, except for Isabela.

"She has more color in her cheeks today," Isabela said to Fenris. Isabela had no intention of ignoring the subject of Marian. The woman was not dead and it felt disrespectful to Fenris to say nothing. The elf was tough, full of defiance and great at survival, but this was different. It was his lover who he carried in his arms, a beaten woman wholly unrecognizable from the Hawke who had walked prettily along the streets of Kirkwall.

"Do not make light of this, Isabela," Fenris threatened. "I am in no mood."

"Neither am I," she replied. "You're not the only one whose ass is on the line you know."

People could say what they wanted about Isabela and they usually did, but she was a good friend. Fenris smirked and looked down at Marian. "Do you really think she has more color in her face?"

This saddened Isabela. The man was after any morsel of positive reinforcement, an opinion or observation that may convince him Marian would once again open her eyes. "Yes," she said, sounding more positive than she felt. "She looks better, Fenris."

"I think… you were right about the sea air," he said, hesitant and afraid she may ridicule him. "She has responded well to it."

Isabela had to look away. Lying was second nature to the pirate and usually came easy, but now she had to force it. "I told you," Isabela said and she managed a small smile. "It heals the soul."

Fenris did not respond, there was nothing he could think to say without becoming emotional. The traumatic experiences of the last several weeks were catching up to him, and he found it odd that these events affected him emotionally more than his time as a slave. It was because he loved Marian, he understood the reason. The night after he killed Burgamond and fled Kirkwall he laid awake, unable to sleep because his stomach was in knots. Marian was on his mind, her welfare, her life and it was too much. He considered maybe their relationship was not worth the grief. It ran deeper than the lyrium branded in his skin. But he remembered even as he lay contemplating his feelings how much Marian had changed his life for the better. Would she give up? No and neither would he; unconditional love was worth the pain.

At the top of the hill the carriage stood and next to it Donnic's brother Nevin and his wife, Caroline. They walked forward to greet Donnic.

"Brother," Nevin smiled. "You brought quite a few friends with you."

Isabela was amused to find that Nevin and Donnic both had the same amazing sideburns. But their wives were completely different. Caroline, was a petite woman with hair the color of wheat. Her clothes were plain, the kind Isabela had always associated with a farmer's wife, but the woman beneath was beautiful, radiant even. _Orlais has nice shoes and pretty women, _Isabela thought, her mind thinking of Orlesians and their affinity for lacey attire_. This trip might be entertaining after all if… I can stop thinking of the bald mage and his clever tongue. Bastard._

"Did you saddle the horses?" Donnic asked. "We need to leave. I… do not wish to put you in more jeopardy than I already have."

"Yes, yes," Nevin sounded bored as if helping fugitives was part of his everyday routine. "You were always one for getting straight to the point. Timothy, that sailor friend of yours left last night after you docked, so you are a horse down."

Donnic had convinced Fenris that they should warn anyone who associated with Marian of the coming danger. Aveline would be the first to receive the message and then Varric.

Caroline had been studying Marian while the men talked. It angered Fenris when he saw that she was openly gawking at her with a mixture of pity and disgust.

"We should not delay," Fenris said abruptly. He was past caring about social graces. "Can you help me lay Marian down in the carriage?"

"Of course," Donnic said. "I apologize." He had noticed Caroline's upturned face while speaking with his brother and he understood Fenris's sudden rudeness. Caroline was a kind woman, but Orlesian, and prone to the same discourteous behavior as the rest of the country. "I will hold the door while you position her on the cushions."

Fenris laid Marian down with all of the care of a newborn baby and then he removed the blanket covering her body. The heat in the carriage was stifling.

"Here, let me open the windows," Donnic said. "Once the horses begin to pull the breeze will make it comfortable enough in here."

Fenris fussed with her blankets and pillows until he was satisfied she was comfortable. He unfastened the first three buttons on her shirt when he believed Donnic was not looking to help her remain cool.

"Three of you will need to ride on horseback," Donnic said. "It is my understanding Fenris and Sol will be riding in the carriage with Marian and I will be driving. The horses are tame and will not throw a rider unless given cause."

"I am not riding a horse," Isabela stated firmly. "They are hairy and smelly and don't have an ounce of sense."

"Then you will be in good company," Fenris said and he smirked. "We need to leave. Either ride a horse or walk."

Anders shook his head and backed away from the horses. "You are not getting me on one of those things either," Anders said. "Mages and horses do not mix."

"Oh you are so beautiful," Merrill cooed near the horse's ear. "Does she have a name? I want to name her if she doesn't"

Merrill was sitting on top of a bay mare, braiding its hair with daisies and speaking to it as if it understood every single word she said and it did. "You can ride with me Isabela if you are scared. She is very sweet."

"I forgot about elves and horses," Sol said. "They take to each other like fish and chips."

Isabela placed her hands on her hips. "I'm not scared. I had a bad experience once. It was late, I was drunk and I didn't know which end was which. I woke up the next day in a pasture sitting backwards on a horse I had been drooling on the entire evening." She shivered and made a sour face. "I swore that I'd never ride one again.

Donnic became irritated. They needed to leave before they were spotted, otherwise it could put his brother's life in jeopardy. "Anders you ride upfront with me. There's enough room for two. Sol is in the carriage with Fenris, so that leaves you Isabela. You are going to have to ride a horse."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. But when we get to Fenris's shack in the woods you are going to fetch the water for my bath and heat it, Donnic."

"I will leave that to Sol," Donnic said and he smiled a cheeky smile. Isabela and Sol briefly glanced at each other and then quickly walked their separate ways.

"You must be joking," Anders said. "Are you insinuating that Isabela and Sol touched each other on purpose?"

Donnic wanted to answer, he wanted to bask in Isabela and Sol's embarrassment, but it would have to wait. "Follow me Anders," he said. "I will give you a hand up and... tell you the details," he whispered.

While the others had been bantering back and forth, a horse had walked up to Fenris. They were staring at each other like two reunited friends. Sol noticed the odd greeting.

"Why don't you ride for a time, Fenris?" Sol suggested. "I am sure you would welcome the fresh air. Besides, I will be watching over Marian."

"I… have never ridden a horse," Fenris said. He held his hand out for the horse to sniff and it pushed its muzzle into his hand without hesitation. Fenris gave the horse's forehead a swift pet. "But I seem drawn to do so."

"Well," Sol smiled at him. It was the first positive reaction he had seen from Fenris in weeks. "We do need someone to scout ahead. But you should be careful not to be seen."

"Of course," Fenris said. He was mesmerized by the brown stallion. It had its nostrils planted in his hair and it was rapidly sniffing, taking in the elf's scent. "I will wear my cloak to hide my hair."

Long ago, Fenris could remember hearing tales from other elves concerning his people's connection to horses. There was a long lived belief, even among those who were not Dalish, that the horses had been created by the gods, a gift they considered as beautiful and regal as the elves.

Even equipped with that knowledge, Fenris was mystified by his need to ride a horse. It frightened him, this unknown force that made him yearn to be spontaneous. He walked to the carriage to retrieve his cloak and was humored to see the horse follow along like a domesticated dog. Inside, Marian lay exactly in the same position. He kissed her once on the forehead and uttered words of endearment in Arcanum so no one could accuse him of being sentimental.

"Know thyself," Fenris whispered to his new horse friend. The horse understood every word he spoke. He responded with an emphatic snort. "I struggle to do so, my four legged friend, but perhaps you can show me a long forgotten part of my heritage."

There was a brief moment when Fenris wanted to turn around and walk back to the carriage. Logic was his ally and had been in many endeavors. This desire inside of him could not be tamed by facts and figures. It was raw, uninhibited like his race had been in the past and if he did not seize the moment it would be lost.

"Freedom," Fenris whispered. He took a running start before leaping forwards. The sudden burst of energy drew his companion's attention. They were speechless as they watched him spring from the ground and land gracefully onto the horse's back. He petted the horse in three long strokes and without a word, horse and rider sped forwards down the road and out of sight. A dust trail was all that remained.

"Elves," Sol said. He shook his head, humored by Fenris and also warmed by the thought that the man may have just found a small part of his Elven roots. He wished Marian could see him now, so tall and proud and free, riding along without a care in the world. She would have loved it.

Sol climbed into the carriage and took a seat across from Marian. Her breathing was deep and steady and she looked at peace. "Marian," Sol whispered. "You better wake up or you are going to miss it all." There was no response. Over the last several weeks, each of Marian's friends had visited her bedside when time allowed. They sat in private speaking to her, sending positive thoughts her way and discussing, as they had when she had been aware, their problems. Even unconscious the woman could not rest.

Sol had prayed every night for her life. He was not sure he believed in the Maker but it felt right, if nothing else it had offered a way for him to relieve the burden of being her caretaker.

Marian moved to Sol's surprise. Whether it was a dream or she was waking he could not say. The body still responded to stimuli even while she slept. "Marian," he whispered. "If you can hear me I need to tell you that Fenris needs you. He needs you to come back… we all do."


	35. Chapter 35: The Lone Warden

Thank you everyone for your readership, reviews and wonderful support. It has been some time since I updated. Dedicated to Letti and T.I.M.

Also, if I do not reply to your review do not think it is because I take it for granted. My ff net messaging is messed up. I do try to keep it all straight. Just know it is immensely appreciated and if I catch a review I missed I will send a thank you as soon as I realize. :D

**Lyrium Ghost Chapter 35:** The Lone Warden

* * *

><p>"My ass hurts," Isabela said. She rubbed the back of her thigh seductively, demonstrating exactly where it hurt. Sol had noticed that this blatant display of flesh often occurred when he looked her way. <em>Coincidence?<em> he pondered. _Doubtful_. The mage flipped a page in his book and pretended to be disinterested. Isabela's eyes narrowed onto the top of his singed head. Any self respecting pirate would not be ignored by a man whose number of sexual exploits amounted to one. "Why are you reading, Sol?"

"The same reason you are bitching: habit." Sol smirked down at his book and listened to the delightful sound of her swearing.

Isabela exaggerated when she wanted attention. However, after a four hour ride, Sol was convinced her pert bottom did indeed ache. He had a warming salve in his pack that would relax the muscle, but he was certain Isabela would believe it to be an indirect proposition for the evening. She would insist he massage it into her skin or find other ailments to be treated in fun-to-touch places. Sex with her would be welcomed and he was tempted to stop playing the disinterested lover and rendezvous with her in the bushes. But it was a temptation that he wanted to resist until he was certain his expectations did not exceed reality. Besides, he enjoyed sneaking the odd peek at her thigh. He prided himself on his discretion in doing so.

"Where are they?" Anders asked Sol. "It has been two hours by the reckoning of the sun." He agitated the fire with a long stick, poking and prodding, until the flames rose to meet the stew pot above. "Do you think they've been apprehended?"

Sol decided Anders current mood was as volatile as the fire he stoked. "No," he simply said.

Anders rolled his eyes. "I suppose I should be honored that the almighty healer of Kirkwall graced me with an answer."

Sol bookmarked his page. He stared up at Anders with his unique brand of droll passivity; the kind that he knew would irritate a person driving for an argument.

"I believe Fenris and Donnic to be capable warriors," Sol said in a dry but gentle tone. "I suspect your internal counterpart, Justice, is worried about the templars making an appearance here at camp, more so than your companions' wellbeing. Or have you and Fenris suddenly reconciled your differences? Are you now spiritual brothers bound by your shared hardship, happy to embrace each other's differences and simply love one another because you are beautiful people on the inside?"

There had been a time when Isabela thought of Sol as the boring potion seller in the Gallows, doomed to listen to the tranquil, prattling mage. But no longer. No, Sol was a surprisingly witty man that would speak his mind if aggravated. The last weeks had transformed him, brought him out of his shell and given him a confidence that Isabela admired and appreciated. When the world dumped its load on their heads, Sol cleaned it up and carried on, and they followed.

"I should not be the only one to fear the templars if they find us," Anders stated. It was true that he obsessed over the potential threat of the templars and that Justice helped to fuel it. But the new threat of the Tevinter magisters overrode those fears and drew his mind to darker places. If the magisters came for them and prevailed, they would all die or become subjects for torture. He cared deeply for Marian and had since the day they first met, but without her leadership he was certain they would lose the battle. "Have you given any thought to the magisters?"

Isabela sighed. She grabbed her hip flask and took a swig. "Why don't you roast a marshmallow or tell a ghost story, Anders?" Isabela asked. If Anders became sufficiently irritated he would go back to writing his manifesto and she could seduce Sol in peace. "Why is it always death, doom and gloom with you? You need to get laid."

"I can't imagine why," Anders said. He held out his arms, exasperated by her ability to ignore problems. "Let's see… I am an apostate, we're being hunted by five magisters of the Imperium, oh and lest I forget, we are all homeless now."

"You lived in the sewers," Sol stated deliberately, to draw attention away from Isabela and to spell out the fact that Anders had never had a home. "Think of it as your homelessness away from homelessness."

Anders stared down at Sol, hatred burning in his eyes, and for a moment Sol noticed the thin glowing lines beneath his skin. The teasing had gone too far and he regretted it, but Anders' anger was unjustified. They were all in the same predicament.

"Excuse me," Sol said. He walked away from the camp side fire and to the carriage. His hands were shaking and his thoughts overtaken by rage. Anders had never been a friend; no, he had made it quite clear upon their meeting that he detested anyone who sold their 'bloody wares' in the gallows. Sol had been a Formari herbalist and enchanter, a group largely comprised of the Tranquil. However, he had never felt that being a tradesman within this group meant he agreed with the practice of tranquility. Who would want to see their friends become emotionless vessels at the hands of the templars? But it was a fact of life in the Circle. There were mages who asked for it, who preferred to live without the fear that they may be taken by a demon. In a sense, Sol found these people to be martyrs rather than weaklings. They were willing to depart with their emotions for the well being of others. In a perfect world it may be that no mage should be made tranquil, but here and now, Sol firmly believed some were beyond redemption and they would fall prey to demonic possession without intervention.

Sol turned to make certain Isabela was directing her attention elsewhere. Anders was in one of his moods and he would not see her become the target of his anger. The pirate queen was nearing Sol's position.

"What are you doing?" Isabela asked Sol with a raised eyebrow. "You aren't hiding from Anders are you? Because if you are, I'd have to call you names."

Sol rubbed his eyes and bowed his head. "I did not want to do something I would later regret."

"That sounds like angry talk," Isabela mused. She loved it when Sol let his anger show. It was an emotion she could rarely coax out of him. "Well," Isabela said in a husky whisper. "We could go do something you definitely will not regret later." She ran a lazy finger down his arm. "I might even let you go on top this time."

He sighed. There was nothing he wanted more, but he had vowed to abstain until he was certain he could deal with Isabela's inevitable rejection. "I cannot accept," Sol said.

"What? Why not?" Isabela was offended. She laid a hand on her hip and stared at him with enough intensity to make him look away. "What's this about? I thought you'd like to have a bit of fun."

"Isabela," Sol said deep and masculine. "We are in camp, an easy target out in the open. It would be irresponsible to go into the bushes and engage in sexual shenanigans.

"Pfffft, that's what makes it exciting," Isabela said. Her eyes drifted back to camp and onto the mage that had started the argument. Anders was biting his thumbnail and muttering to himself. "Anders is making you boring isn't he?"

"It's not just Anders," Sol said. "There are circumstances other than what you see here that weigh heavily on my mind. I am simply too distracted to please you."

Isabela rolled here eyes. "Fine. Let me know when you are more distracted by me and less by your stupid problems."

Isabela started to walk away, hurt and disappointed. She wanted his unwavering attention, craved it even, but of course, what man had ever put her first? The first and only law of Isabela stated there would never be 'feelings', only fun. Just as she had decided to throw Sol to the side, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She was shocked by the force of his maneuver. He looked down at her with a smirk sitting playfully on his lips. In the light of the fire, with Anders and Merrill watching, Sol kissed her firmly but with passion, and she felt the warmth gather in her body and spread. There was, to Sol's surprise, no resistance on her part. She melted into him and returned his affection in the same fiery way in which it had been given.

"Maker's breath," Anders mumbled. "Have I somehow entered the Fade and witnessed a gruesome nightmare?"

Merrill watched Sol and Isabela for a time and then she replied: "No, it's just Isabela and Sol. I could pinch you or smack you over the head to make sure you are not dreaming."

"It is wholly unnatural, an abomination in my eyes. Make it go away!" Anders said. "Ick. Mages like Sol aren't supposed to get the sexy, flirty, big bosomed woman. I bet he made a deal with a desire demon."

"You sound jealous," Merrill said and she grinned. "Do you want to kiss Isabela? She might let you if she liked you."

Anders ignored the quip. The movement of Merrill's hands drew his attention. "What are you doing to Hawke?" He looked pointedly at Merrill. Marian lay on a mound of blankets and pillows, her hands rested on her stomach and she lightly breathed. The scene reminded Anders of a book he had read as a child about a princess that would not wake unless she was kissed by her true love. Considering Fenris had kissed her everyday since she slept, Anders decided in his own humorous morbid way that the elf had failed on that account. "I don't think Fenris would approve, but keep doing it by all means. The world could do with one less blood mage."

Merrill continued to rub the damp cloth over Marian's face despite Anders' warning. The horses had kicked up clouds of dust as they journeyed along and it had settled in her hair and on her clothes. Merrill would not see her friend remain dirtied.

"Oh I don't think Fenris will care if I just dust her off a bit," Merrill chirped. "I know Hawke. She wouldn't mind. She might actually like it."

"Only in my dirty dreams," Anders whispered. "I would finish quickly if you value your internal organs."

It wasn't enough that she played with demons on a regular basis; the woman wanted to tempt death. Anders wished, as he watched Merrill dip the rag in the cool water and wash Marian's face that it could remove more than the dirt. Merrill unconsciously traced the scar that started at her left temple and tapered down into a thin line to the top of her upper lip. It was the most visible of all her wounds and the one Anders was certain would haunt her forever. He could not fathom what it would be like for Marian to wake every morning and see it, to constantly be reminded that she had been left for dead. The question remained: would she wake? Every day that passed seemed to solidify the possibility that she would not. If Merrill could use her blasphemous blood magic to heal Marian's face Anders, he realized to his horror, would find it difficult to disagree.

"Do not touch her again," Fenris growled. He walked out of the shadows and towards Merrill. The young Dalish woman stared up at him, her eyes wide and fearful. "I will not have a filthy blood mage tend to Marian. You and your ilk are the reason she lays here now."

Merrill quickly moved away from Marian and stood to face Fenris. This was not the first time he had threatened her over a matter she deemed trivial. Tonight, he looked odd, a ghost of the former man he had been only weeks ago. This threat did not feel hollow.

"She was dirty," Merrill said meekly and with reserve. "I wanted to wipe it away from her face. That's all, Fenris."

Fenris stepped closer to Merrill, a breath away and in his face she saw fury. "I detest your very presence. You are here only because Marian would wish it. But if you touch her again, I will send you on your way and pray that the templars find you."

Donnic and Sol neared Fenris. They were aware that he was on the brink of losing control. Today during their journey, Marian had opened her eyes. Sol immediately asked Donnic to stop the carriage, but by the time Fenris had returned she was once again unconscious. Sol was not sure she had ever been aware of his presence. He spoke soft words and encouraged her to respond in any obvious way, but she did nothing. When Fenris learned that she had not spoken, he turned away, anguished, and departed on his horse. Sol had not seen him again until now and what he saw was a tortured man. His actions therefore were unpredictable. Even Anders had stopped engaging him in arguments.

"Fenris," Donnic said quietly. "Come have something to eat. We should discuss the tracks we found with the others."

Merrill walked away, tears in her eyes to the far side of the camp where her face remained hidden by the shadows. Sol gestured discreetly with his hand for Isabela to follow. She appeared to be annoyed by the request, but without a word she went to console Merrill.

Anders had paid little attention to the argument. He had considered defending Merrill, but there was a feeling... a nagging sensation in his mind and it was growing. The sun had set an hour ago soon after Sol and Isabela's tongue-tied encounter. The fire blazed brightly, enough that a large halo of light spread over an expansive area. It was at the border of light and dark, next to a tree that his eyes remained fixed. There was something or someone nearing that position. Anders grabbed his staff and walked out of camp and into the night.

"You say there was a set of tracks?" Sol asked Donnic. "Someone is following us? A lone rider? Perhaps a scout?"

Donnic nodded. "There is no doubt. Fenris confirmed that the prints were fresh. The deep indentation in the ground indicates the rider is armored. At this point we should consider the worst."

"The templars could not have caught up with us this quickly," Sol said. He rubbed his hand along the wispy strands of his hair. "Many will have remained in Kirkwall to reassure the citizens that there has not been a sudden upsurge in Dwarven mages." Donnic's small laugh made him smile. "My money is on a traveler or a merchant."

Fenris, who had been halfheartedly listening to his friends suddenly sprang to life. He was on his feet with his sword drawn, tattoos glowing, pointing at the empty black of night.

"Maker's breath, that's a bloody big sword," a voice said in the dark. Anders came stumbling into camp. He had been pushed. "Look, a little Grey Warden who's lost his way. I find all sorts of rubbish on my journeys."

"Come in to the light before I cut you down," Fenris growled. He shifted his weight to a fighting stance. "If you are a templar you best pray now."

A man stepped forward into the light of the fire. He looked at Fenris and raised an appreciative eyebrow at his sword. "You can have your scruffy apostate back."

Fenris studied the stranger uncertain whether he should strike him down or admire his deft insulting of Anders. He was tall, broad shouldered, heavily armored in Grey Warden plate and... strangely familiar. Fenris had seen him before but he could not place where and when.

Anders pointed his staff at the man. "I am not going back to a life of taint and death. Do you understand me? I refuse!"

"I am not here to take you back to the wardens," the man said. "Why would I? The wardens have better things to do than chase a big girl's blouse across Thedas."

"And I am supposed to believe that you just stumbled upon our camp?" Anders charged his staff ready to strike. The warden's hand twitched slight enough that only Fenris's keen eyes noticed. "You must take me for a fool."

"No, I didn't just stumble across your camp. I have been waiting for your arrival for over a week," the warden said. "Look, I'm here to help, although I am guessing since no one has offered me tea and biscuits that you haven't been told that yet?" The man quirked an inquisitive eyebrow and studied the camp. He seemed to be looking for someone in particular. "He… didn't tell you? Why didn't he tell you?"

"Who is 'he'?" Sol asked. "We were expecting trouble not company."

The Grey Warden heaved a heavy sigh, "Great," he grunted, a look of irritation in his face. A piece of wrinkled parchment emerged from his pack. "Varric, the chatty dwarf who lives at the Hanged Man asked me to give this to one of you."

Sol smoothed out the parchment and began to read aloud:

_Dear Broody, Blondie, Daisy, Rivaini and Baldy,_

"Baldy?" Sol muttered. His lip curled, marring his once placid face. "That vertically challenged bastard has some nerve."

Anders seized the moment. "I think Varric's great with nicknames," he added and his shoulders bobbed from the force of his quiet laughter.

There were a few choice words Sol had for Anders but it was nothing he would say aloud. He would not participate in the same childish behavior as the rest of the group. Someone had to be the adult since Marian was unable to fill the role. He continued to read and ignored Anders snickering as he did so.

_You are going to run into a Grey Warden in Orlais. He should be waiting for you at the vineyard. He's also the same warden that gave Hawke a pretty bauble during the fight with the Quanari but couldn't stay to finish the dance. Wardens and politics don't mix or so I'm told. What a load of shit if you ask me._

_Broody, maybe Hawke mentioned it or maybe she didn't, I guess it depends on how much you two share outside of the bedroom, but this warden has been writing her for over a month… before… you know. I'd like to think it was love letters and that Hawke might be forced to choose between lovers, unless you two are willing to share, but I'll leave that for my next book. He will tell you the rest. _

_V_

"Maker's breath," Sol whispered. "I wish I had read it first before speaking. What is wrong with that dwarf?"

Fenris and the warden stared at each other. "I promise the letters were of a professional nature." The warden said. "When I travel again to Kirkwall I am going to kill that dwarf."

"You will have to wait your turn," Fenris stated and he relaxed. A letter from Varric was proof enough that the warden could be cautiously trusted. The sword dropped from the warden's throat. Fenris sheathed it and walked away, to where Marian lay. There he was seated with his back to everyone. Sol had become increasingly worried about Fenris. Fatigue had deepened the lines under his eyes and darkened them. In his words, his movements and moods, Sol observed that Fenris's resolve was fading to apathy. He was but a sliver of his former self. Now he wondered if Fenris would see the presence of this warden as betrayal. It was obvious Marian had not mentioned him.

The warden switched his attention to the staff pointed at his chest, fully charged and ready to be released. "Could you stop pointing that at me?" The warden asked. His eyebrows knitted together and he pouted. "It really makes me feel unwelcome."

"I don't care how you feel," Anders said in a deceptively even tone. "I'm not putting this staff down until I am certain you are no threat. I don't care what Varric said, you might be stalling until reinforcements arrive."

When Anders's posture did not change the man continued. "What if I say please?" The warden mockingly pleaded. "No? Not even if I ask really nicely?"

"Maker's breath you're annoying," Anders said, a bit haughtily, which Sol thought was disrespectful. "I do not know why you are here but if it is to offer aid then you should leave. We can fend for ourselves."

The warden's face, which had been cheery since his arrival, grew intense and intimidating. It was as if dark clouds had marred a pleasant sky in an instant. "I will ask again: put the staff down."

"Anders, please do as he asks," Sol suggested. He stepped closer to the two men ready to intervene if necessary. "He may act like a child but I assure you he is quite capable of killing you."

Anders had been a Grey Warden. He did not doubt that the man before him was an able warrior since only the best were conscripted. "Fine," Anders said and he lowered his staff. "He is your responsibility now Sol."

The warden took a deep breath and sighed. "Good. I'm glad that's over. I hate it when I have to use my shouty voice. He searched the camp for Fenris. "Where did the elf with the squiggly lines go? I need to speak with him."

Fenris brushed Marian's hair with his hand. He wished she was awake, able to offer advice about the newcomer, but it was up to him to make a decision.

"Varric stated in his letter that you were to meet us at the vineyard," Fenris said over his shoulder. "Why are you here and not there?"

The warden noticed Marian for the first time. He could not make out her face in the dark, but he could see that she was wrapped in blankets from head to toe. Everything Varric had told him had been true. It was unfathomable to think the Knight Commander had agreed to murder this woman, the Champion of Kirkwall. It went against everything the templar order stood for and it angered him.

The warden stared off into the distance as if he were recalling a pleasant memory. "It wasn't entirely my fault I didn't make it to the vineyard. You see, there were some Antivans and they had a tainted chicken..."

Sol held up his hand. "The story can wait," he said in a perturbed voice. "We need to know who you are, why you are here; a meaningful explanation please."

"I'm not sure I am ready for deep and meaningful. We hardly know each other." The warden said and he grinned. When Sol did not smile at his jest, the warden continued with his explanation. _Mages, _he thought_. They hate me. "_My name is Alistair. I was in Kirkwall during the Quanari attack." His voice trailed off into a whisper. "I fondly remember Hawke with her huge staff pulverizing men twice her size. A scenario I… was once very familiar with."

"Yes, I remember you now," Fenris said, irritated by the memory. "You were the Grey Warden who would offer us no aid." He shook his head and huffed. "So I will ask again: why are you here?"

This was the moment Alistair had dreaded. He had rehearsed his answer often while he had awaited Hawke and her companions' arrival. But now that it was upon him he realized nothing he could say would help dampen the blow.

"Your partially exposed back is distracting. Can I speak to your other side?" Alistair asked Fenris. Humor and a stiff drink afterwards was the only way he was going to push through this conversation. Fenris nodded his head and rose from the ground to join the others at the campfire. Isabela in particular was eager to hear Alistair's explanation. The moment he stepped foot into camp she remembered him from years ago. They had met briefly at the Pearl in Denerim. Obviously, he did not remember which annoyed the pirate queen. She loved to believe she was unforgettable.

"I am listening," Fenris said and his voice was harsh and commanding. "If I am dissatisfied with your answer you will leave this camp immediately or, if I believe you to be something other than you claim, I will kill you."

"It's always nice to know my options," Alistair said, humored by Fenris's straightforward words. He was not frightened of Fenris, he had faced worse, however he wanted to avoid a confrontation. "Here's the thing, after Hawke defeated Corypheus, the Warden Commander in the Free Marches became very interested in her. He learned of this relic Hawke used to open the seals, the key, and he wanted it, but Hawke refused to hand it over. Why are Amell women so stubborn?"

"What would you know of Amell women?" Fenris asked and he immediately became suspicious. "Explain yourself."

"Can it wait until I finish the first explanation?" Alistair asked. "If I start another explanation it may confuse the first explanation and then I might have to start a third explanation to explain the first and second explanation."

Fenris folded his arms over his chest and glared at Alistair. The elf, Alistair had to admit, was extremely intimidating. "No."

"Right," Alistair said, resigned to the fact the situation was about to become further complicated. "I was an acquaintance of Solona Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, who was also Hawke's cousin."

Sol noticed a wicked smile creep across Isabela's lips. At first he believed it to be predatory as if she were sizing up Alistair for her next sexual meal. But there was another emotion, one that he could not identify, but if he had to give it a name it would be melancholy. This was a rare display of her inner emotions.

Anders stepped backwards. His eyes widened and then narrowed onto Alistair. "Wait... you're 'the' Alistair, the warden who helped Solona slay the archdemon?" Anders chuckled. "Impossible."

"You don't have many friends, do you? Alistair said and the humor had drained from his face.

"But..." Anders ran his hands over his face. "I remember being told that Alistair, who was supposedly Solona Amell's lover, which I highly doubt is you, was intelligent, charming, and handsome and many other things that do not equal you."

"Yes, ha ha," Alistair said. "Just for that I'm not sharing my cookies." He turned his attention back to Fenris. "Look, I am here for two reasons. I would appreciate it if you would hear me out. This… is important to me." His demeanor rapidly changed into a wretched display of unhappiness, a kind that Fenris had seen on the faces of his friends after Hawke was injured.

Fenris nodded his head but said nothing. He had heard the tales of the Hero of Ferelden from Marian on occasion. There was mention of a man named Alistair in those stories, of a tragic love shared between the two that ended with Solona Amell deliberately sacrificing her life to save his. It was the sort of maddening and stubborn act Hawke would commit. If this was truly the man who had remained at Solona's side through her hardships to unite the people of Ferelden, then he had nothing but respect for Alistair.

Alistair cleared his throat in an effort to start again and to dampen his emotions. This task was proving harder than he expected. "Thanks to Corypheus, the talking darkspawn, I was assigned the incredibly boring task of creating a team to collect and investigate ancient relics used by the Grey Wardens. Remind me to thank Hawke for that later," Alistair said and a lethargic sigh escaped his lips. "I started by speaking with the First Enchanter in Kirkwall. We all know how mages like to horde dangerous ancient relics near other dangerous mages. I also had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting Meredith, who I think is really a gelded man dressed in women's armor."

Sol had not heard the story of Corypheus. He wondered why Hawke had withheld the information since she had always been so forthcoming with tales of her adventures.

"When did this happen?" Sol asked. He looked to the others for answers. "Marian never mentioned it to me."

Alistair turned his attention to Sol. "Yes, well it was made very clear to Hawke that if she were to start telling stories of slaying an egotistical talking darkspawn while sober it might attract the wrong attention," he explained. "She'd either be labeled insane and locked away, or the Chantry would become involved."

"Hawke has never boasted of her victories," Fenris said, in a proud tone. He disdained braggarts. "Unfortunately, Varric, the annoying dwarf, recounts these elaborate adventures of ours and also deems it necessary to embellish them. I suppose the Chantry has decided he is insane and thus waits for someone to lock him away." Fenris smirked. "I do not understand why Hawke would want to keep the key. It is not her preferred stave."

Alistair chuckled. Until now he had decided that Fenris was devoid of a sense of humor, perhaps even emotions. He was going to be a hard man to get to know.

"I think it was for sentimental reasons," Alistair explained. "Hawke uncovered her father's role in strengthening the seals, right? And she also heard his voice through a demon that occasionally popped up out of nowhere? That sounds so creepy. Whatever the reason, the Warden Commander accepted he was not going to convince Hawke to give the key back. But…"

"But?" Fenris asked. He was perturbed Alistair had allowed his statement to linger. "Speak your mind."

There was a brief silence, during which everyone studied Alistair. The way he stared at the fire and sighed made some wonder if he was going to cry. "The Warden Commander was going to conscript Hawke. She was to become a Grey Warden."

"Andraste's tits," Anders said, thinking what that would mean for Hawke. "You can't."

Alistair rubbed his forehead. He could see the anger building in Fenris and the others. "You know that she cannot refuse conscription, Anders. It is the right of the Grey Wardens."

"Is that why you are here?" Fenris said and his fists balled tightly until he could feel the sharp metal points of his gauntlets digging into his palms. He leapt from his seat and pointed towards Hawke. "As you can see she is unable to comply with your Warden Commander's request," he spat. "I suggest you return immediately to deliver the news."

Alistair neared Fenris. This information, he had known, would be ill received. "I am not here to conscript Hawke. This is personal," he said. "Solona was my life, the closest I came to family, besides Duncan. I think… if she were alive she would want to help her cousin. Solona would take Meredith down."

"So this isn't about the Grey Wardens is it?" Sol asked gently and with care.

Alistair looked at him with a seriousness Sol had yet to see in the man's face. "No, it's about family."

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><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Big fat sigh. I did tons of research on Alistair, Grey Wardens, plots and stuff I don't even want to recite. Read all the epilogues and played DAO's dialogue to death, and I think I went over every choice. Saying all that, I probably missed some important facts about his relationship with the warden.

I hope I did him justice and I hope what I wrote sounds plausible. Thank you so much!


	36. Chapter 36: My Lord Broodyship

Thank you for your reviews, readership, favs, alerts and fun :) I am writing shorter chapters in attempt to post more often so the story will keep moving. :) This chapter's dialogue has changed for those of you who have seen it before when I attempted to split the story. Dumb idea. Explanations will unfold in future chapters.

Thank you!

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><p><strong>Lyrium Ghost Chapter 36: My Lord Broodyship<br>**

Marian felt like she was being ripped from her mother's womb again, away from warmth and ignorant bliss, thrust into the cold world that waited. During the journey, the cohesive bond between magic and soul was broken. The amulet had separated them and the pieces that made her whole no longer fit. Marian fought to return to the Fade, where her power was boundless, and the addiction could be fed. She screamed, but it was silent, lost eternally to the Fade. The echo, however, would forever remain, whispered on the lips of demons.

She could hear words of comfort, two distinct voices encouraging her to live. Someone had taken her into their arms and held her close_. Fenris_, she wondered lazily. The touch was almost painful. Sensations had become memories and memories reality in her dream world. He could not know that every nerve cried out for reprieve, or that the stroke of his fingers felt like abrasion over freshly burnt flesh.

For a brief moment she was in the waking world with its vivid colors and glaring light. It was bold and crass and unwilling to shape itself into anything recognizable. Her dreams warmed by muted light, the shade of aged paper was no more.

Those days she spent in the Fade she imagined to be warm autumn days where the occasional cold rush of air would hide in the wind and jump out to catch her breath. In that chilling breeze she could feel—rather remember—the threat of winter. It was a memory she desperately clung to in a place of dreams, where life was mentally lived.

The imagined world had been her salvation from Lord Burgamond's thoughts and grotesque actions. Young women were brought to his mansion, stripped of their virginity in the most humiliating fashion and sent on their way to the brothel. It was their indoctrination, as he liked to call it. He destroyed lives to advance his own and took pleasure from it. His thoughts betrayed that he felt invincible when others were at his mercy. Beneath this malcontent, Marian had found the cause of his ever growing need to dominate: acceptance. His father, from what she could see, was a harsh businessman, brutal to the point of snuffing out life regardless of age. Altan never lived up to his father's expectations, never received praise and he was simply washed away by his father's ravenous ego. Marian, to her disgust, sympathized. Her father had not been perfect but there was no limitation placed on his love and understanding. But regardless, Altan had a choice and he chose to be corrupt.

When watching Burgamond's life unfold became too much, Marian would recede further into the Fade, which she learned to shape, and she would become lost in her creativity. Her dreams often started out as romantic notions spent with Fenris in beautiful worlds that did not exist. In places where no petal or leaf was stained and day spilled into night like a newly fallen leaf on the water, still, calm, adrift without turbulence; a perfect reflection of what she wished.

Fenris stood before her in a remembered meadow of her childhood. She studied him as an artist would a landscape, and she began to paint him, her canvas, in different shades. The lyrium-burnt hair faded to dark, slightly lighter than the color of his eyebrows. The tattoos vanished, and with them the pain. She had asked on more than one occasion, _is this still Fenris or is it Leto? _In the end, it did not matter. After turning his image into a multitude of different shapes, sizes, races, including dwarf, human and anything that took her fancy, she would return him to his former appearance. That was the man who she loved.

Marian's mind imagined further, always pushing the boundaries beyond what the Fade had intended for mortals. History was rewritten, a world where slavery, the Blight, illness, poverty and the failings of mankind did not exist. Fenris's markings fell from his skin and shattered onto the earth; the pain was no more. She imagined that the elves had not fallen to the Imperium. They were a free, noble people living the life that she believed the Maker had intended them to live. The great Elvhen city of Arlathan was conjured; a marvel of architecture, culture, history; the majestic center of the Elven world.

This fantastical world eventually overrode all other dreams and it became her reality. The possibilities were endless. Perhaps Fenris was a prince in this Elven land or her Elven overlord, one with a fierce sexual appetite that commanded her to do unspeakable acts to his body. The idea was not too hard to conceive since he was regal in movement and speech. Well, when she could forget his more flawed actions, like the time he stood outside of the gallows throwing expensive bottles of wine at random mages in a drunken rage. Marian had been unable to relinquish the memory of that incident even while floating on the currents of the unreal. It made her smile; his obstinacy had no bounds.

Eventually, when Marian's sexual desires were satiated she would walk with Fenris through the woods or the meadow, speaking at length about their wishes and desires. Often, these conversations were filled with laughter, and the worrisome life they led in reality faded.

The pleasant existence she had created in the Fade was about to end. Marian did not welcome it. She had spoken to her father at length about her fears and the agony of returning to a body that had been damaged. "Perhaps," she had said to Malcolm, "it would be best if she remained."

But he had said that her memories would fade with time. Smell, touch taste, sound, it would leave and become impossible to imagine, and eventually she would crave sensations again. She would forget what it was to be touched, to listen to another, to hear the sound of children, to be loved. That is why he had clung desperately to the place that felt like home, where his favorite and strongest memories held the most meaning. But it had dwindled down to a moment of one day, and since he could no longer accurately imagine his wife and children, he sat alone in the warm sunlight, drinking his tea in the kitchen. It was the last part of his life that he could distinctly remember until Marian had returned and reminded him of his past life. That was why it had become so hard for him to possess a person and return to the Fade. He had done it for her, for his Marian, but he had suffered like a man without water. The yearning to return was cruel and he told her the same would happen if she were to remain.

When the time to return had finally come, Marian tried to go back to her father, but he would not receive her no matter how much she pleaded. Instead, Malcolm used what influence he had in the Fade to expedite her journey back to her body. It had taken all his will not follow through the open door and posses his own daughter.

Marian awoke, urged onwards by her father's words. There was a sound, a rhythmic humming. She turned in the direction of the sound and a blurry image of Fenris suddenly came in to her field of vision. He was seated next to the bed reading. The lines of concentration on his brow brought about a small wave of happiness in Marian. It had been a pleasure to teach him to read and rewarding beyond words to watch. It was a perfect sight.

Her mind focused elsewhere. This was not Kirkwall, of that she was certain. The air felt warm and dry, it smelled like a fresh spring day just after it had rained. Green, she guessed, if a color had to be attributed to a smell. The water was clearing from her eyes, the room coming into focus for the first time.

She was lying on an overstuffed feather mattress, her head cradled by pillows, and a bright quilt embroiled with dainty flowers covered her body. A steady breeze, which she felt upon waking, was blowing through two large rustic windows. Outside, she could see the tops of pink coneflowers intermixed with purple sage wavering around in the playful wind. Somehow, and she could never figure out how, the fat bees that had nestled into the heads were not flicked away when the stems bowed. Sticky feet, she guessed.

The bedroom was large, made of limestone and plaster that had been painted a pleasant beige. Above, there was a beamed ceiling and below, tiles of reddish brown. She was surrounded by sturdy Orlesian country furniture, some of which was engraved and stenciled with simple designs. It was tasteful, more cheery and inviting than her furniture in Kirkwall. This place, it felt… like a real home, not some pretentious display of wealth.

She was ready now, ready to put the Fade behind and join the living again.

"My Lord Broodyship," Marian whispered despite her parched throat. "I have missed you."

Fenris's olivine eyes snapped up from his book to meet her own. For a moment he did nothing but stare, his face a picture of wonderment. At last, when reality dispersed his doubts, he threw his book to the ground and leapt from his chair. Marian watched as the chair toppled over from the force of his movement.

Fenris was at her side and she smiled in defiance of the pain. His stern features melted into a soft display of love and adoration. "Thank the Maker," Marian heard him whisper. The elf knelt by the bedside, his eyes wide and tearful, and he did not hesitate to gently kiss her on the lips.

"Marian," he whispered against her lips. It was not the Fade and the pain was real, but to feel his warm breath, to smell his sun kissed skin and to taste him was more rewarding than anything she could imagine. He was real, tangible, the colors of his clothing and body vivid and alive.

"It is real," Marian confirmed, her voice coarse and her words nearly inaudible. But those keen Elven ears heard every one and they were enough to make the tears drop from his eyes. "You are here, Fenris."

"No," Fenris smiled. "You are here."

She tried to laugh but the pain from the inhalation of air was so great that she believed her chest had collapsed. Hot tears fell sharply down her cheeks, over the tender flesh on her face and it stung. Marian felt as if she had buried her head deeply into a thorn-filled rosebush. Fenris noticed that she was trying to scream. He grabbed an elfroot potion on the bedside table and bade her to drink. Marian did without question. After a deep breath the pain faded from her face and chest.

"Why do I hurt, Fenris?" Marian asked, her eyes searching his like a hurt and scared child. "Every part of me feels as if it has been torn and broken."

Fenris looked away, to the ground, anywhere but at Marian. "They tried to destroy you," he answered. "Do you not remember what I said to you in the Fade?"

"Yes... I do not know," Marian finally admitted. "The memories of that place are not as clear to me now."

"Perhaps, it would be best to have this conversation later," Fenris said. "It can wait." He lightly petted her hand. "You are here and awake. Please do not rush this moment."

Marian's hand reached out and cupped his cheek. His eyes closed as he reveled in her touch, a feeling he once believed he may never experience again. "Fenris," Marian whispered. "What has happened?"

"Another time, Marian," Fenris said. It sounded selfish to deny her an explanation, but he had lived this mess she had created every single day since she had been found in the crate. She slept and he fought to keep her alive. The same questions hour after hour, sometimes each minute, went through his mind: Will she die, will she not? How do we feed her? Why will she not wake? What do we do if she never wakes? How do we escape to Orlais with her body? And it had never ceased. "This can wait." He laid his forehead against her own and his eyes closed in what looked to be immeasurable pain. "Let me have this moment."

She looked at him askance, the Hawke stubbornness ever present. "I need answers, Fenris. I am... confused." Marian tried to raise her head to see the extent of the damage to her body, but her neck felt as if it would buckle under the wait of her head. "I feel so weak."

Fenris rose from the ground. He turned away and his hand buried itself deep into his scruffy hair where it worriedly massaged his scalp. "Leave it be for now." He heard the inevitable argument form on her lips and he faced her then, stopping the words before they could be spoken. "Do this for me, Marian. Do it for yourself."

Her eyes closed and she nodded. "I am sorry," she said. "I… cannot think. My thoughts are jumbled."

It was odd for Fenris to see the body that he had watched and prayed over, move and react. This was what he had wanted, dreamed of, fought for, but now that she was finally awake he found it did not live up to expectations. Fenris had come to terms with Marian's injuries while she slept and he had forgiven her, but their relationship needed time to heal.

"Fenris?" Marian asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Do you…"

Fenris walked away from the window and to her side. He looked down into her eyes and there he saw a very frightened woman. "What is it Marian?" he whispered, gentle as a breeze. "Are you in pain? Should I fetch Sol?"

"Sol?" Marian asked. "Where are we?" Of course she did not know, the events had unfolded while she slept.

"We are in Val Jouel," Fenris said softly. Patience, this was going to require patience. "The world has changed since you were last aware." They were speaking together, she was awake and the questions were pouring out from her lips, but it felt unreal. He did not want to answer or listen; he only wished to stare into her open eyes, to see the life in them that had been closed away for weeks.

She rolled her head to the side. It was one of the few parts of her body she could move without feeling excruciating pain. "Do you still love me?"

Fenris leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Perhaps the question should be: how could I not?" He saw that she had attempted to smile through her pain, it had tugged at her lips, but never fully blossomed. That saddened him more than their current conversation. He had missed that smile. "But Marian…" She looked up at him. "What we had no longer exists; therefore, we will have to forge something new."

She nodded, but said nothing. The elfroot was wearing thin and the pain was edging towards unbearable. Fenris's words had provided her with enough comfort to know that he was still a part of her life. Exactly what that entailed remained a mystery.


	37. Chapter 37: Princess

**Thanks to everyone for their lovely reviews, alerts, favs and especially for continuing to read. We've almost reached 200! So very excited :D I'm sorry about the untimely update. Thank you again :D P.S. I had a blast writing Fenris and Alistair together. I hope you enjoy it too. :D  
><strong>

**Lyrium Ghost Chapter 37: Princess**

Fenris lay next to Marian with his arm slung over her waist in a gently protective manner. The warm morning sun, subdued by the curtains, basked the room in a soft light. It was the perfect ambience for sleep. Fenris opened one lazy eye aware that he would need to rise soon and see to Marian. _Five more minutes, he thought. _Sleep was about to take him again when he felt a small tremble; Marian was weeping.

"Marian?" Fenris whispered. He awoke immediately and scrambled from under the covers to look at her, but when he tried to see her face, Marian buried her head into the pillow determined to block his view. Even after six years of his company she was embarrassed to cry in his presence. "Are you in pain? Should I fetch Sol?"

It was then, as he gazed down at her, that the mirror across the room caught his eye and in it he saw Marian studying her reflection. She traced the long scar down her face, and paused to finger the deep crevice in the middle. This she was doing with her remaining two fingers.

Her eyes drifted to his reflection. "Why did they not heal me properly?" she asked. It was said in a way that suggested the healers had been inept, and yet, it was well known that Sol was one of the finest in Kirkwall.

"Solivitus saved your life, Marian," Fenris said. He stroked the exposed skin on her forearm in an attempt to soothe and offer support. To his disappointment, Marian jerked her arm away. "He worked tirelessly to mend your bones and close your wounds."

Marian scowled. The hateful expression startled Fenris. It was reminiscent of her reaction the day Quentin had killed her mother. "And what of Anders?" Her voice rose. "Was he too busy writing his manifesto to aid Sol?"

"He was late to come to your aid," Fenris said and he sighed. Even he could not fault Anders on this account. "I believe it would best if you reserve your judgment until you hear an account of the events."

This reaction was not unexpected. Marian had been a woman blessed with beauty and poise. She was not shallow or particularly self obsessed with her appearance, but she was still a woman and one who enjoyed her attractive qualities when intimate. The marring of her body did not lessen his love, nor had it ever been the sole reason for his attraction. But, the imperfections, he knew, would be a blow to her confidence and that was the loss he mourned.

"I want to see Sol," she hissed. "I want to thank him for saving my life so that I may now spend each and everyday admiring his handiwork."

Fenris moved away from Marian to the edge of the bed. There he sat with his head bowed, exhausted, wavering between resolution and depression. He thought back to the one month of bliss with Marian, before her life had been shredded by Burgamond, and he wondered if they would ever experience it again. That was the reason he had carried on, the reason he had been able to forgive her and remain at her side. But it seemed to him, as he looked down at his hands and the scars from his former life, that there would always be someone or something to prevent their happiness.

"Would you rather be dead?" Fenris asked to Marian's surprise. "Is it not enough that we are together again?"

He shut his eyes and awaited the inevitable outburst. If she was going to heal, her anger needed to be freed. Regardless, it pained Fenris that he, her protector, would now become her whipping boy.

"That is an oversimplification, Fenris," Marian said and the words were venomous and harsh to hear. "Would you be content with a body this scarred and torn? Everything that I once was has been stripped away." Her eyes met his in the reflection and in them he could see the unadulterated hate. "There is little of my former self that I can see in this mirror."

Fenris turned on her then; his face a picture of anger and hurt. He walked steadily from the bed to face her in person. His arms moved away from his body so that his markings could clearly be displayed. "Yes, of course, what would I know of a scarred body or loss of identity?" He looked down at her pitiful form and into her eyes. "Life is unfair Marian and it as cruel as it is kind. Do not believe that you are the only one to suffer for the gain of others. But where there are those who face this cruelty alone, you do so with friends at your side. I love you," he said with confidence. "But I will not pity you."

She moved away from him. "Leave," she whispered.

Fenris walked from the room aggravated by her remarks and disheartened that he had been unable to offer the support that she needed. Marian was a shadow of her former self, her emotions were raw and uninhibited and she could give nothing in return. Even equipped with this knowledge she had still managed to make him feel inadequate. Sol and Anders had warned him that it would take time for Marian to adjust to her circumstances. It was their kind way of saying she was going to be inconsolable.

He would speak with Sol and then take a walk in the woods. It would be beneficial, although getting drunk sounded better. Fenris remembered that the mage had mentioned he would be tending to the overgrown herb beds. Their medicinal supplies were almost exhausted and none of them were ready to venture into the nearby town of Jouel.

Fenris admired his cottage as he walked through the garden. It had proven to be more substantial than he had expected. The house was built from grey stone, quarried from the nearby hills and the foundation, according to Donnic, was solid. He had pictured a rundown shack infested with Darkspawn and tainted cows. Thankfully, and to his astonishment it was a quaint country cottage nestled in a valley, cloaked by ancient trees and crowned with rustic charm. Most of his companions found it cozy and inviting, but after a life spent in estates graced with vaulted ceilings, marble floors and exposed stonewalls, he felt hemmed in. The exception was the master bedroom. It was spacious, richly furnished compared to the other rooms, graced with two large windows and a door that opened out onto a small stone patio. It was, in his mind, perfect.

There was, however, the matter of the roof. They had discovered two rooms with large holes in the ceiling. Fenris had allotted these rooms to Alistair, the strange Grey Warden and Isabela who had complained since sailing from Kirkwall. He was certain Isabela would wrangle her way into Sol's bed, if she hadn't already. The very thought made him shiver.

Fenris stepped outside, relieved to be freed of the confines of the house. His eyes scanned the landscape, taking in its richness. Beyond the cottage, the trees opened up and revealed row after row of grapevines. Unfortunately, the vineyard had been unkempt and the weeds had swamped the arable land. He would see to it that in the months to come it was cultivated even if it meant hiring help. This was _his_ property, proof that he had moved beyond the mentality of a slave. To own something and to do so honestly was his greatest success.

At the end of the fenced-in garden and true to his word, Sol was on his knees pulling weeds and burning those that he had collected. It was the best use of magic Fenris had yet to see.

"Sol," Fenris said. "Marian wishes to speak with you."

"It's my turn is it?" Sol asked. "I wondered when she would get around to shouting at me. Well…" He rose from the ground and dusted off his trousers. "I suppose it was inevitable."

It was odd for Fenris to see Sol wearing trousers and a shirt. It was a marked improvement over his gaudy robes and he no longer begged to be arrested for crimes against fashion.

"How did you know she was angry?" Fenris asked. "You have yet to visit her today."

"The bedroom window is open," Sol answered. He pointed to it and shrugged. "It was impossible not to overhear most of the conversation."

Fenris crossed his arms and his posture became rigid and imposing. "Why did you listen?" he asked and the anger rose in his voice. "Is it not enough to know what we both suffer? Must you eavesdrop as well?"

Sol gestured to the herbs. "I am running dangerously low on supplies," he stated. "I do not have the luxury to wait about until either you or Marian has decided to end your argument. I have a responsibility to everyone here and I must see to it. Besides I am already very intimate with your problems."

The anger gave way to sadness and Sol regretted his quick answer. He laid his tools upon the ground and when he rose, he smiled at Fenris. It was fond and full of warmth, but it had come too late.

"I… will speak with you this evening," Fenris said and he walked away.

"Damn it," Sol whispered under his breath. He stared after Fenris until he disappeared into the trees. _I should have been more tactful. Fenris has been pushed to his limit, but… I suppose that is true of all of us. _The mage leaned over and picked a handful of lavender. _Perhaps, Marian will welcome the scent. _Sol sniffed the herb and he considered her likely reaction. _No… _He let it fall from his hand_. She will appreciate nothing I have to give until she forgives me._

Fenris watched as Sol disappeared into the cottage. He wanted to speak with him again and reassure him that he was not truly angry. How could he be? The mage never ceased to offer his support and help. Fenris supposed that was part of the problem. Support from a friend was still a concept he struggled to understand. Marian had been the first to see him through his troubled days, but she was his lover and he would do the same without hesitation. Sol, however, was selfless unless Isabela was involved. As far as Fenris was aware, the mage had never troubled another with his problems.

As Fenris neared the edge of the forest, a glint of metal caught his eye. It emanated from across the field near one of the workman's cabins. He unsheathed his sword and used the cover of the trees to near the position without being detected. When he was able, he paused to study his potential threat.

"That's just one rabbit too many," Alistair said to his Mabari. The dog cocked his head to the side and then whined. "Look… you may not know how this works but you need two rabbits to make more rabbits, so you have to leave some or there will be no rabbits."

Fenris and the dog cocked their heads in unison and stared at Alistair with the same bewildered look. Since he was not one to spy on people and considered it rude, Fenris emerged from the trees. His sword was still in his hands and his demeanor, as always, was intimidating.

The sudden noise started Alistair. "Whoa," he exclaimed. His eyes drifted to Fenris's hefty weapon. He became somewhat apprehensive at the sight. "Where did you come from?"

"From the cottage," Fenris said as if the answer was obvious. He sheathed his sword and raised his favorite disapproving eyebrow. "More importantly: what are you doing here?"

Alistair held up his breastplate. "See… I'm cleaning my armor," he said and carried on. "You can watch if you want. I'm not shy."

_This man leads people into battle? _Fenris pondered the outcome of that scenario and since Alistair sat before him alive and well he decided the opposite was true. _No, he follows. _

To Alistair's immense surprise, Fenris grabbed a weather-worn chair and positioned it a comfortable distance away. They eyed each other once, but did not speak, instead they watched the Mabari maul a rabbit and tear it to shreds.

"Something is bothering that dog," Alistair said. "Sure, killing fluffy harmless creatures is fun the first two times, but… it all seems so excessive today."

The Mabari paused to study Alistair. The dog barked in what seemed to be agreement and then it returned to chewing its latest victim.

"Lucifer did the same when he left the confines of Kirkwall, except… with more fervor," Fenris said. "We could not stay hidden for the trail of dead animals left in his wake. I remember fondly how much it annoyed the rogues in our party, specifically the short, verbose one."

Alistair looked up from his polishing. "Oh," he said surprised. "I didn't know you had a Mabari."

"I don't," Fenris stated. "It was Marian's dog. He accompanied her when she fled the Blight with her family."

"Where is Lucifer now?"

"He is no longer here. Lord Burgamond mutilated him." Fenris said. The memory of that night and Orana's pitiful body came to mind. In the weeks after, he mourned her loss and wept. No one deserved that death. "There has not been an opportunity to tell Marian. It's not something I relish since..." Fenris looked away and he remained silent for a time. Alistair patiently waited for him to finish. He had enough experience with grief to know when to allow a person their space. "Forget I said anything."

"The last of her family?" Alistiar added. There was a need within him to mention the uncomfortable subject. It was an experience he could relate to and a commonality between them, whether Fenris realized it or not. "Varric told me how they died. It… well I saw plenty of that on my travels." Alistair cleared his throat to signal the end of the discussion. "So… do you like cheese?"

"What?" Fenris asked, his words incredulous and ripe with shock. "Do I like cheese? We were discussing Marian's dead family and you decide it is the appropriate time to ask about my particular food preferences? What is wrong with you?"

Alistair shrugged. He smirked at his polished breastplate. "I find cheese helps."

Fenris wanted to be angry, rage about Alistair's insensitivity, but if he were to be honest, light heartedness was welcomed after enduring Marian's tirade. "You are an odd man," Fenris said. "Why are you sitting out here in the middle of a field?"

"I thought I'd find a place less drafty if it is all the same to you," Alistair said. His room had a gaping hole in the roof. "My face was wet when I awoke this morning and it hadn't been raining. That's too much nature for my liking."

The dog whined as if to be agreeing with Alistair. Fenris shook his head at it. "I thought Mabaris were an intelligent breed of animal. Why did he choose you?"

"Oh that's funny," Alistair said and he sarcastically laughed. "This Mabari didn't choose me, imprint, whatever it is they do. It was Solona's Mabari. The Mabari whined, a sign that it still mourned the lost of its master. We... just travel together."

In the past Fenris would have ignored a man like Alistair. He would have dismissed him as ridiculous and unworthy, but he could not. No, this man had helped to save a whole country and lost the woman he loved because of it.

"Marian told me of Solona, what she knew that is, and for what it is worth, I am sorry." Fenris said. "She was…"

"A hero," Alistair finished the sentence. There was mostly sorrow, but Fenris also detected a slight bitterness to his words. Was he jealous that she would forever be remembered as the woman who slew the archdemon, and he receive nothing more than a mention? But when Alistair looked away, Fenris recognized it for what it was: pain. Six years since that day and the man was still unable to speak of it without fear of shedding tears. Fenris believed he understood that pain.

"What is his name?" Fenris asked. He gestured towards the Mabari in case Alistair had named his armor.

Alistair laid his breastplate on the ground and smiled at the dog. "It's a she and her name is Princess." Princess barked at the mention of her name.

"She named a war dog Princess?" Fenris scoffed at the name. "That animal can rip a man's face off in less than two minutes."

"Solona had a great sense of humor," Alistair said. His boyish grin surprised Fenris. The mention of his dead lover's name managed to make him blush as if she were sitting next to him.

Fenris smirked. He realized Alistair wanted to be aggravated. It was most likely to distract him from his painful memories. "I assume that would explain you."

"Why are you so cruel?" Alistair whined.

"Stupid people make me angry," Fenris replied.

Alistair seemed to consider the elf for a moment. "So… what makes you happy?"

"Dead stupid people," Fenris answered without mirth.

"I knew someone rather something like you once," Alistair said. "Shale. She enjoyed killing things and was very mean… and nasty… and evil."

"Something like me?" Fenris asked. "How am I supposed to take that?"

"She was a somebody until she was placed on an anvil and made into a walking talking pile of rock," Alistair said. "I don't know if a golem likes to be called a somebody or a something. Do you?"

"I will have to... consider it," Fenris said. "Do you often think of these sorts of things or have I been unfortunate enough to be privy to one of your fits of contemplation?"

"Nah, I do this all the time," Alistair said. "You will get used to it."

"I am skeptical," Fenris said. "Perhaps I will learn to tolerate it."

"I knew you were a big softy," Alistair said. "And here Varric said you were an emotionless brooding pit of despair. You proved him wrong."

"I hate you," Fenris said.

"It won't last," Alistair said. "I have a way of growing on people."

"Like mold?" Fenris asked.

"Yeah, that's a good one." Alistair said. "See... I knew you weren't really all snarly and scowly. There's a rainbow under every dark cloud you know."

"You consider a comparison of your personality to mold to be a… compliment?"

"One of my favorite cheeses is made from mold so I think it's a great compliment," Alistair said and his face grew contemplative while he reminisced about his favorite dairy food. "If you had said freakish errant back hair my feelings would have been hurt. So, anyway… I'm wondering something."

"Mhmmm," Fenris said and awaited the inevitable daft comment. "What?"

"Not to insult your hospitality, I mean, I do love a bit of fresh air, just not over my head, but do you mind if I sleep here tonight?" Alistair eyed the workman's cottage. "The roof is intact although… I might have to declare war on the spiders, unless I can negotiate a peace treaty with them and convince them to leave peacefully."

"I do mind if you sleep here tonight," Fenris said.

"Maker's breath," Alistair said and his face flushed red. "Fine. I have a tent. It's missing one pole but I guess I can sleep on the side that is mostly erect."

Fenris smirked. "There is a guestroom near the kitchen that is unoccupied and comfortable. It is yours for the entirety of your stay."

Alistair and Princess cocked their heads to the side in the same fashion. Fenris's sudden generosity was beyond their comprehension. Under normal circumstances, Alistair would question the elf's cordiality, but after a month without a real home, he was thankful. As he thanked Fenris, he wondered what the elf would say if he knew how much he had sacrificed in order to aid Marian. But that conversation, along with many others would have to wait.


	38. Chapter 38: Broken

Thank you everyone for your reviews, favs, alerts and continued reading. I appreciate it more than you know. Many thanks to Cherrychopstix, my 200th reviewer and the inspiration for this chapter. You have been a wonderful source of support and I appreciate every bit of it. :D

After this chapter the story will focus more on healing, lightheartedness and character development. We are going to move away from the misery for a time and have some fun. Hopefully, the next chapter will help make a smile or two.

**Chapter 38: Broken**

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><p>Sol rapped lightly on the bedroom door. When there was no answer he called out to Marian. Under normal circumstances, Sol would have assumed she was asleep and returned later, but the situation was severe from what he had overheard in the garden. To leave without first checking on Marian, he felt, would be foolhardy and it wasn't a risk he was willing to take. Sol opened the door a fraction and peeked inside. She was sitting upright on the edge of the bed with her nightgown open, studying her naked body in the mirror.<p>

"Marian," Sol whispered. He diverted his eyes and stepped into the room. "How did you manage to sit up? You must be in agony. Cover yourself and I will help you lay back down."

Marian continued to stare at her reflection in the mirror. "Look at me, Sol."

"I see you," he said, but his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. "Now let's..."

"No!" she shouted. "Look. At. Me." She opened her nightgown wider and ran her fingers over the deep scarring on her chest and legs. Marian stared up at Sol, tears brimming in her eyes like a hurt and confused child. "Could you not do more?"

This question was one he had dreaded since the day her damaged body lay in front of him. She had been covered in a thick layer of blood, her body contorted and twisted like a rag doll. It had been beyond his powers to save her beauty; he knew that from the moment he began to heal her wounds. "I tried," he said and his voice began to die away. "I tried, Marian."

Marian stared down at her feet unable to withstand the pain she had caused Sol. She shook her head. "Why did you save me?"

"People need you. Fenris needs you. I believed you would want to be with him regardless."

As she stared into the mirror, her cheeks turned a deep crimson, her anger bubbled over and it could no longer be restrained. Marian grabbed a glass from the nightstand. She examined it and as she did, her resentment and anguish poured out. The glass flew across the room and hit the mirror, shattering it. Marian lunged forward, off of the bed and buried her hands into the shards. The sudden outburst shocked Sol and he stood paralyzed by her reaction.

"This is me," she wailed. Marian scooped up handfuls of broken glass and held them up for Sol to see. "I am broken."

Sol knelt down and pulled her into his arms. He quickly ran a healing hand over her bloodied fists. Against her will, he brought her to his chest and held firm until she no longer struggled.

"Marian, sweetheart, don't let this beat you," Sol said and he kissed her on the forehead. "You are the strongest of all us mages."

Marian grabbed a fistful of his shirt and shook her head. "Not any more. You know my magic is gone... it's all gone."

"What happened?" The low baritone voice startled Marian and Sol. They looked up to see Fenris standing over them. "Marian, are you hurt?"

For the first time since she was a child, Marian raised her arms up in a plea to be held and to feel the security that only comes with unconditional love. Fenris did not hesitate. He lifted her from the ground and brought her to his chest. Sol turned his attention to the shattered glass, to anywhere but the couple. He froze the shards and safely disposed of them. When he was certain none of the glass remained, he went in search of Isabela and her prized bottle of rum.

As soon as he stepped foot out of the bedroom he saw Isabela standing in the shadows. The sound of the mirror shattering was loud enough to wake the dead, and apparently a passed out pirate. He could see the question forming on her lips, but with a shake of his head he dismissed it and carried on towards his room.

Isabela had listened to the conversation since its beginning. 'I am broken,' she had heard Marian say. She had imagined Marian would awaken and life would continue as if nothing had happened, but that, she finally realized, had been wishful thinking. The scars on Marian's body were unpleasant, a mere displeasure to the eye, but those in her mind were powerful and they had her caged. To overcome that imprisonment, Isabela understood Marian would have to redefine her life, and she would need her friends to see her through it. Marian Hawke, the once fierce and proud mage… was gone.

Sol grabbed Isabela's 15-year-old bottle of rum from under the bed, popped the cork and began to drink straight from the bottle.

"Hey," Isabela said. "How did you know that was there?"

He coughed and sputtered before he could finally answer. "For a pirate you are not particularly good at hiding things," Sol said.

The weary mage found his way to the edge of the bed. Once he was seated, he bowed his head and cradled it in his hands. It was then, Isabela realized he was silently weeping. No one could deny that Marian was in a pitiful state, that her condition was grave, but through all of this, she felt, Sol had risked the most. He was now a wanted apostate doomed to spend the rest of his life on the run from the Templars, and if caught, he would be executed. That fact was not often addressed by her other companions and she resented it. They took his loyalty and service for granted. At the end of this internal tirade Isabela realized one thing: she cared deeply for Sol. He was as vulnerable as Marian and she would make certain he was never caught.

Isabela placed the rum down on top of a small worn table in the corner and she went to Sol and kneeled at his feet. He wiped away his tears quickly in a vain attempt to hide them, but she was not fooled. Without a reason or a cocky remark, Isabela leaned upwards and kissed him fully on the lips. He did not have the resolve to resist, his moral code forgotten as they embraced.

While the two lovers found solace in intimacy, there were others who would have been content with a pair of dry socks. Alistair had been caught in the midst of a torrential downpour. He was leading his horse, Camembert to the stables when it began.

"Maker's breath," he exclaimed and urged the horse forward. Several flashes of lightning frightened the animal; it whinnied and refused to move. "Why do you have to do this now?" Alistair whined. He looked down at Princess. "Can you do something about this horse?"

Princess walked up to the horse and barked at it twice. To Alistair's amazement Camembert began to move again. They trudged along through ankle-deep puddles and mud until they finally reached the cover of the stable. Alistair retrieved his lantern from his pack and lit it. Since his talk with Fenris, the sky had darkened thanks to the rain clouds and visibility was poor. The stable, to his surprise was in good condition. There were no leaks, the hay appeared to be fresh and dry and there was ample food for the horses. The fresh hay made him wonder. If it had been left by the De Launcet's it would be years old, but it was crisp and golden. He decided he would investigate the oddity further in the morning. For now, he was happy to feed Camembert and find his new room.

The long walk from the stables to the cottage was miserable. Alistair had tripped over old tree stumps and random stones every step of the way. "Maker, I hope that door is open, Princess," Alistair said. "If it's not I think I'll cry."

The dog barked happily in response. Alistair wondered if it was the Mabari way of making fun of him.

The back door to his relief was open. Once inside he removed his muddy boots, wet socks and then went search for a towel to dry Princess. The dog, however, had disappeared. Alistair wanted to yell for her, but he feared that there may be others sleeping.

"Princess!" he whispered loudly. "Come back here."

Alistair walked through the mudroom into the kitchen and then he remembered his room was supposed to be nearby. He hoped to find a pair of dry socks, any piece of clothing that did not drip. Unfortunately, the door he opened was not the door to his future room.

Sol stared wide-eyed at an alarmed Alistair. "Get out!" he hissed. "This isn't your bloody room."

Isabela laughed. "Do you want to join us?"

"Maker no!" Alistair said. "What I want is to gouge my eyes out."

What he had just witnessed Alistair believed would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. It was worse than the time he had seen one of the old sisters at the monastery naked. He quickly closed the door and walked away and into the sitting room. There he found Merrill and Donnic eating stew.

"Oh hello," Merrill said. "Are you alright? You look frightened."

Alistair shook his head and cleared his throat. "I… it's nothing," he said. "Have you seen my Mabari?"

"What happened?" Donnic refused to allow the conversation to stand. The threat of the templars required he remain vigilant and any incident no matter how small he would know of it. "Was it something Fenris said?"

"No it was… you don't want to know," Alistair said. He took the throw Merrill offered and wrapped it around his shoulders. Donnic was concerned. The man looked to be in serious shock, perhaps ill. "It was very bad. Very very bad. There were arms and legs and orifices."

Donnic chuckled. He had heard snippets of Sol and Isabela's extracurricular activities while in the kitchen. "You accidentally opened the door to Sol's room then?"

"Yes," Alistair answered, in a frail voice. "Maker how I wish could unsee that."

Merrill shook her head out of sympathy. "You poor man. Would you like some stew? Hot food makes everything better."

"No," Alistair argued. "I need cheese, a big wedge of it or Maker help me I won't live to see tomorrow."

"How about some cookies?" Merrill said confident she knew best. "I made some from oats and honey. I'll go get you one."

Donnic was fascinated by what he considered a meeting of the minds. "So, Fenris says you are to sleep in the guestroom near the kitchen? It's that way." Donnic pointed in the direction of the room. It was on the opposite side of the house, far from Sol's room.

"Have you seen my Mabari?" Alistair asked. "It's hard to miss."

The sudden change in topics left Donnic astonished. He was getting the impression that the man's thoughts were not coherently connected. He suspected head trauma may be the cause. "I can't say that I have."

"Thanks," Alistair said and he walked away without another word. Donnic guessed he was going in search of the dog or a wheel of cheese. It reminded him of three very amusing things he had learned about Hawke during the years he had been privileged to know her. She collected homeless men, mages and misfits. It seemed their new addition was no exception to the rule.

Alistair meandered through the kitchen, where he found a cookie waiting for him on a plate. He grudgingly ate it and continued his search for Princess down a dimly lit hallway. At the end he noticed there was a room with the door open. He was not one to pry but he believed it imperative that he find Princess before she damaged someone. When he looked inside the room, Alistair saw not only Princess but a woman lying in the bed. He wanted to walk away, respect her privacy but her face… it was so strikingly similar to Solona's that he could not tear his eyes away. For a time he remained hidden watching Marian Hawke.

A strange wet sensation awoke Marian. At first she considered it may be Fenris but he was not known to lick hands. She looked down near the edge of her bed and two eyes stared back.

"Lucifer?" Marian asked. She petted the dog's head. "No," she whispered. "Lucifer is… dead." Over the last day Marian had quickly begun to regain many of her memories from her time encased in the amulet; the death of Lucifer and Orana being two of the most painful. "Where did you come from?"

Princess pushed her head under Marian's hand, demanding to be petted. Marian smirked at the persistent Mabari. "I hope Fenris does not believe he can replace Lucifer so easily or worse, fool me into thinking my dog still lives. No…" she said wistfully. "He is too honest for that."

The Mabari whined. "You understand don't you?" Marian said. She noticed several scars across the dog's back and sides. In them she saw a reflection of herself and she began to cry. "You do understand."

Alistair stared at Marian, unable or unwilling to move. He could not decide. It was selfish and irresponsible, but under the scars he saw a semblance of his dead lover and he would not be denied the opportunity to see her again. It reminded him of the day he first met Solona Amell. She had waited patiently for him to stop arguing with a prickly mage. She was quiet, observant; a woman of few words. When he turned his attention to her for the first time he noticed that even in her gaudy Circle robes she was a vision of loveliness unlike any mage he had seen before… until now. Marian Hawke, though blemished, was beautiful. He wondered now if his decision to aid her was born out of a need to find more than family.

He cleared his throat to announce his presence. The noise startled Marian. Her eyes snapped to his and he stared at her with immense sadness and if he were honest… longing. It had been many years and he had cared for no one else.

"Who are you?" Marian asked.

The buttons on her nightgown had not been fastened and the tops of her breasts were on display. Alistair inadvertently dropped his gaze. Marian noticed immediately and grabbed the covers and drew them to her chin.

"I will ask once more and then I will call for Fenris," Marian said. "Who are you?"

The sternness in her voice broke the spell. All thoughts of Solona dissipated and Alistair grew uneasy. He was ashamed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I… was looking for my Mabari and well, I found her so I'll be off."

Marian raised a disapproving eyebrow. "You still did not answer my question."

"I'm Alistair. We exchanged letters," Alistair said, hopeful the next word she spoke would not be the name Fenris. "I accompanied Solona… your cousin."

There was a brief silence before Marian answered. The memory was vague as were most but she did not want to show that weakness in front of a stranger. She already felt vulnerable, more than she had as a mage child hiding from the Chantry in Lothering.

"I… don't understand," Marian said. "Why are you here? In Orlais, with us?"

"That's a good question and I have an answer," Alistair said. "It's a good answer but I can't think of it right now, so I'll just grab Princess and be on my way. If you could not mention this to Fenris that would be great. It's raining and I don't want to sleep in a dysfunctional tent."

Marian considered the man. He was tall, muscular, unshaven, dirty and she was certain that it was his unpleasant smell wafting her way. Beyond his untidiness, there was a hint of familiarity, perhaps something they had shared in their letters. She could not place why she associated that particular feeling with him until he fidgeted. It reminded her of Merrill.

"Princess? That is the Mabari's name?" Marian smirked, the first positive emotion she had shown to another person since waking. "I like it."

Alistair smiled. "Solona enjoyed the irony. So... I should go. I didn't mean to intrude."

"I'm sorry about Solona," Marian said. She looked away and petted Princess for comfort. "I wanted to tell you that in person instead of in a letter."

"Thank you," Alistair said, his voice barely audible, "I wish it was her standing here instead of me."

"Why would you say such a thing?" Marian asked. It had made her angry and reminded her of what she had sacrificed to help Fenris. Now another ungrateful man stood before her complaining because his life had been spared. "She sacrificed so that you could live. Why are you not grateful?"

The rudeness was unexpected and Alistair was quick to respond. "Because I was rude to her before she died. She had helped so many people, suffered without praise or recognition and when it came to the end I thought..." his voice faltered. "I thought if she could live it would be my way of showing her how much I loved and cherished her. I guess some might consider that foolish sentiment, but it was all I had to give."

Marian shut her eyes. The guilt she felt was nothing short of torture. This man had not deserved her rage. He was a hero, a good man, and she had insulted him for nothing more than caring for the woman he loved.

"Please... I need you to leave," Marian whispered. "This is too much."

"Of course," Alistair answered quickly. "Princess let's go." But the dog did not move. Alistair huffed at it. "Now."

Marian had seen the same look from Lucifer many years ago. The Mabari had chosen her as its new master. "I think she has imprinted on me," Marian said. "I can try and persuade her to go back with you but Mabari are stubborn as I'm sure you know."

"No," Alistair said. "It's her choice, so who am I to try and make her do otherwise."

He walked from the room feeling more alone than he had been in years. Princess, he felt, had betrayed him, chosen a stranger in preference to the loyalty he had shown the animal. Princess had been his last connection to Solona, but now that it was severed, he wondered if he would ever find companionship again.


	39. Chapter 39: Alistair's Nightmare

I apologize for my lack of replies to my reviewers. I'm a bad person. You have my permission to send hate messages. I will get back to you as soon as possible. I have been away and without Internet. I wrote this chapter on paper and typed it up this evening. My computer time is limited. Warning: Friday night smut with a twist within. Next chapter will be the turning point for Marian. Ability to write coherent sentences gone…

Dedicated to Cherrychopstix ( I hope you don't mind having smut dedicated to you ;)

**Chapter 39: Alistair's Nightmare**

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><p>The campfire had begun to burn low, its orange flames mimicking the last light of the setting sun. This was Alistair's favorite part of the day, at least it had been until the Darkspawn horde invaded Fereldan. Once the sun set they would be faced with a possible threat in the dark.<p>

He threw one last log on the fire. Sten was on watch tonight and although he was uneasy with the Quanari's unusual outlook on life, Alistair fully trusted that he would keep a constant vigil. On the far side of camp, out of earshot, was Solona's tent. For five months they had shared her tent. It made Alistair question why he still erected his own tent. He suspected it was a precautionary measure in case he made her angry and was kicked out.

As he neared their shared abode, he noticed a multitude of candles scattered around the entrance. Solona lit them only on special occasions. _Does she know what today is? _He wondered_. But how?_ Alistair opened the tent flap. The love of his life gave him a sultry smile and a wanton look.

"What is going on?" Alistair asked. "Candles, smiles..." He noticed that she was wearing her silk nightgown; a garment that left little to the imagination. "Lack of clothing... Did I do something right?"

Solona smiled. "Off with the armor, Alistair," she said playfully and laughed at his goofy grin. "I have something for you."

Various pieces of his armor began to fall quickly to the ground. "I did do something right," Alistair said. He suddenly looked suspicious. "Or are you about to ask me for a favor?"

"You might like this favor," she said low and feminine. "I'll tell you once you join me."

The heat began to rise in his cheeks, deepening the skin color to crimson. "What is it?" he asked. After the last piece of armor was removed and his under padding lay aside, Alistair crawled into the tent. He kissed her on the cheek. "Your desire is my command."

"Is that so?" Her lips brushed across his. "I think since it is your birthday that your desire should be my command."

Solona presented Alistair with a small sweet cake. "I would have involved everyone in the celebration but since you never mentioned your birthday, I thought it might be best to keep it private."

"How... did you know?"

"I asked Eamon," Solona said. "You always deflected when I asked you for the date."

Alistair looked down at the small sweet cake. "Thank you," he said and he kissed her. Their lips separated slowly, both savoring in the touch. "I can't believe you did this for me."

"Here," Solona said and she handed Alistair a small box wrapped in fancy paper. "Happy Birthday, my love."

He eagerly unwrapped the present and laughed when he saw what it contained. "It's a golem hand puppet. Where did you find one?" Alistair asked. Solona giggled at his childlike reaction to the puppet.

"The Wonders of Thedas of course," she said. "I remembered you mentioning it when we were in Denerim."

Alistair placed the puppet on his hand and used it to speak to Solona. "Would you like to see my boulders?"

"Maker help me," Solona said and she laughed and squirmed as her neck was attacked by the hand puppet. "Stop or I'll..."

Alistair continued to tickle her with the hand puppet until he managed to maneuver her beneath him. He threw the puppet to the side and slid his hand up to the top of her exposed thigh. His fingers were restless, edging slowly towards the center. "So, you said that my desire is your command," he stated in a suggestive tone. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Hmmm... that has so much potential."

"Is that so?" Solona asked. She gave him a saucy smile and deliberately raised her chest. "What do you wish of me?"

His lips met hers in a light embrace, enough to tease. "I want to be with you, especially now, on my birthday."

"How old are you anyway?" Solon asked.

The abrupt question annoyed Alistair. He was ready to get on with the festivities and unwrap his next present.

"You never ask a man his age," Alistair replied and deliberately tried to sound offended. "That's rude."

"Alistair," she sighed, "you never ask a woman her age, not a man."

"That's a bit of a double-standard don't you think?" Alistair said. He grew playfully inquisitive. "Why... why do you want to know how old I am?"

"I want to know if you are an old perverted man taking advantage of me, a beautiful, innocent and impressionable young woman." she said. "And... if we should be trading in your sword for a cane."

Alistair laughed loud enough for the sound to carry throughout the camp. "Innocent... impressionable... You are unbelievable. Besides, you look as old as me."

Solona raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean old as in wrinkly or smelling like prunes." He cleared his throat, uncertain of whether he had offended her. "I mean... you can still pick up your staff without complaining about your back so our age difference can't be that big."

She shook her head and laughed. "It is a good thing I love you."

"It is," he whispered in all seriousness.

Solona urged his lips back to hers and their sweet kiss quickly turned heated. Alistair reveled in the feel of her silken skin against his rough hands and the warmth of her breath on his lips. His tongue delved deep into her mouth, dominating the kiss. Carefully, he lowered her down onto the furs lining the bottom of the tent. The playfulness in her face melted away when she noticed him admiring the shape of her feminine body. His eyes were alight with lust, but in them could also be seen love.

When the scrutiny became too intense, Solona urged him to lie at her side. Alistair did so without delay. He pampered her neck with feather-light kisses, small nudges and the odd nip. The pad of his thumb circled her nipple in slow methodical strokes until it hardened, and then he gathered the material of her gown into his hands and pushed it up over her breasts. She sighed contentedly in his ear, her hot breath urging him onwards. Alistair lavished her breasts with open-mouthed kisses and the flick of his tongue. Solona opened to him then and he slid between her legs. She could feel his hardness against her inner thigh, throbbing and twitching with anticipation.

Alistair's lips meandered down her exposed torso. His kisses stopped when he reached a sensitive spot. When their eyes met, Solona knew exactly what he had planned. She arched her back in anticipation of the pleasurable torture that he would inflict. The tip of his tongue licked and caressed the bud between her legs and it swelled from the pleasure. Solona's hips moved gently in time to his rhythm, her body eager to receive the titillating sensation. Before she could peak, Alistair stopped and slid two fingers within her to make certain she was ready to receive him.

"Why did you stop?" she asked, wild-eyed and close to hysteria. When he smiled a wicked smile, her eyes narrowed. "You need to finish what you started."

Alistair kissed her fully on the lips and then said in a husky voice, "Oh I plan to. Come here."

The first thrust was gentle and kind, much like Alistair's own temperament. Solona wrapped her legs around his waist, encasing him between her legs. "I know you can do better than that," she challenged.

He smirked but said nothing.

Using his full strength he set a punishing rhythm; each movement hard and deliberate, causing her breasts to bounce and her legs to quiver. Alistair tried to delay the inevitable with thoughts of ugly people and even attempted to use his Templar abilities to forestall his orgasm, but it was of no avail. They had been together many times since the first night but he was inexperienced and still unable to last as long as he would like. But it had been long enough. He looked to Solona. She was writhing underneath him, enjoying the last waves of her orgasm. It was then as he watched her face blossom from the euphoria that it began to change. In an instant another woman lay beneath him: Marian Hawke. Alistair wanted to stop. It was wrong and upsetting that Solona no longer remained and yet he liked it, no he loved it. The taboo was thrilling. As he watched Marian take pleasure from his body, Alistair buried himself deep within her, riding her hard until he finally climaxed. There was no guilt, only pleasure. He rolled away and gathered Marian up in his arms. For a time he lay panting, happy, content as if they had always been intimate.

"Would you like some cheese?" Marian asked.

Alistair, stared up at her lazily, his lids heavy and ready to shut.

"Will you feed it to me?"

She smiled over her shoulder at him. "Of course," she said and rose to retrieve a tray of cheese. Alistair admired her bare back and round bottom as she walked away. He stretched and yawned and then drifted asleep.

"Alistair," a voice whispered. "Wake up."

He opened his eyes and a small silver tray lay between him and Marian on the bed. "I thought you were going to feed me," Alistair said.

"Of course, sweetheart."

The voice had changed.

Alistair's eyes snapped upwards and instead of Marian holding the piece of cheese to his lips it was Sol. "Open up."

The sound of his own scream awoke Alistair. He was upright in his bed confused and horrified by the vision and sound of Solivitus's provocative voice. "Maker's breath, why did I have to open the wrong door?" Alistair wondered. Then he thought of Marian beneath him in his dream and he realized seeing Isabela and Sol having sex was the least of his worries.


	40. Chapter 40: Petunia Pendragon

Hello all! I've unfortunately been ill and unable to stare at a computer monitor. I apologize profusely for not replying to messages. I know they are there and I am very sorry. I've been reduced to paper and pen. :/ My husband has been kind enough to type it up for me and he is posting it too. Maker let's hope he does it right ;)

So... for the one year anniversary of the story I decided to try my hand at sex and humor. Really just needed to have some fun. Yes, well, it may fail. The original chapter 40 will come in to play later. Further explanation was needed. I resurrected a character I wrote many years ago for this chapter. She may or may not stay in the story. Prepare to be goofified ;)

Thank you everyone for all your kind comments and supports especially to those who have been around for the year! I wanted to go through the reviews and write down all the names of those who have been reviewing since the beginning. I'm still going to do that when I feel better.

**Chapter 40: Petunia Pendragon**

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><p>Ferelden winds were renowned for their ability to make the most hardened warrior wish he was a young babe curled up next to his mother's teat. The wind did not caress or tickle the skin even on a summer's day. It bit and ran up a skirt and made a person question whether they were still a virgin after the thrill of it ended. Marian contemplated this as the Orlesian breeze pampered her skin with a mixture of pleasant warmth and the scent of wildflowers growing outside. The lack of flesh-ripping cold made her homesick.<p>

Marian decided to finally open her eyes. Fenris was standing in the doorway, the outline of his long silhouette against the light of the sun. He turned to her immediately and she wondered if elves could feel more of the world than humans, if his ears served another purpose besides hearing and his second favorite erogenous zone.

He walked to her in graceful fluid steps. The man could cross a room filled with people, steal a bottle of wine and slip out the door and down the hall without being detected. This was a scenario she had experienced often after coercing him into being her escort to a noble's party. It was also not unexpected nor did she admonish him later when they were at home alone. How could she after being confronted by gasps and whispers? Fenris's tattoos and his elfness was never ignored. Now, Marian wondered, to her horror, if people would pay more attention to her scars and missing fingers.

"How do you feel?" Fenris asked, his voice low and faint. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "You were dreaming again. I hope it was not unpleasant."

The sound of crickets and rustling grass lulled Marian to sleep for a mere moment. Fenris's chuckle roused her and brought her back into the waking world.

"I… saw my mother," Marian whispered. "She was trying to tell me something but when I ran to her she disappeared."

Fenris crawled into the bed and wrapped an arm protectively over Marian's waist. He kissed her on the forehead and his warm breath washed over her skin as he spoke. "I know that you were accustomed to remaining conscious while in the Fade but now you must accept that what you see are only dreams."

"I know," Marian said. The warmth and familiarity of his body made her relax. "There are moments when I wonder if it really is mother. Being reunited with my father in the Fade has made me question if we do get visited by those we have lost."

The mention of Malcolm Hawke was not a welcome thought. Fenris had yet to say what he had learned about her father and the amulet. He decided reluctantly to wait one more week. If nothing was said in that time then he would tell Marian all that Malcolm had revealed.

"There are many things that cannot be explained," Fenris said. "Perhaps upon our deaths it will become clear."

"I for one cannot explain Isabela's chest size or Varric's lack of beard," Marian commented as she enjoyed listening to the low rumble of Fenris's laugh. "The Maker owes everyone an explanation when it comes to those two."

"They are clearly abominations," Fenris said.

"Ah, not really the Maker's work then?" Marian asked and she smiled. "What kind of demon do you think would want to possess them?"

"A demon of sex and annoyance, in that order" Fenris added to his own amusement.

"This talk of abominations, even though silly, makes me worry about Merrill," Marian said. She was fond of the young Dalish elf, even though it went against her better judgment. Merrill was a blood mage and she was flippant with her use of magic. It was a recipe for disaster, but Marian did not have the heart to dismiss Merrill from her group of friends. "How is she?"

"Since there is obviously not a demon of stupidity willing to possess her, I believe she is fine, except…" Fenris's face turned ripe with disgust. "She continues to ogle that odd man Alistair. I was unable to finish my breakfast."

"Oh?" Marian raised a nosy eyebrow. "She has a thing for the warden? But she has said to me on more than one occasion that the Dalish…" Marian waved the comment away. "It doesn't matter. Is Alistair aware of her infatuation?"

"The man is oblivious," Fenris said.

"Then they are perfect for each other."

Fenris was humored and surprised by her comment. She rarely insulted others unless it was deserved. "Did I hear you correctly?"

"Don't you dare tell Merrill I said that," Marian said and she poked him lightly in the side. "I couldn't resist."

"You smiled," he whispered. "I have missed that."

The smile was unexpected. Fenris had started to believe after Marian's incident with the mirror that she may never come to terms with her body and loss of magic. But, over the last three weeks she had begun to slowly regain some of her humor, even though she struggled to remain positive. Marian refused to touch any scar unless it was necessary and she changed her clothing in the dark. But of all those unpleasant reactions, Fenris was disappointed most by her continued refusal to speak with her friends. He loved her more than he could adequately express, but he tired of playing caretaker to a woman who was capable enough to see to most of her needs.

"I did smile, didn't I?" Marian said and her eyes gave way to her sadness. "Some part of me believes I deserve this punishment. Is that odd?"

"It is complicated," Fenris said in a reassuring tone. He wanted to tell her of the amulet, honesty being his greatest virtue, but he could not do so while she grasped to find a way out of her misery. Marian was still too vulnerable and though it pained him to say nothing, it felt necessary. "Give it time, Marian."

She snuggled deeper into his embrace. Fenris was pleased to see her comfortable and at peace.

Fenris placed a finger under her chin and tilted her head upwards. When he was certain she would be open to affection, they kissed. It was slow, tentative, a simple brush of lips that eventually spilled over into a passionate display of love. Fenris followed Marian's lead. He did not want to push her further than she was willing to go. There had been light kisses, some caressing but nothing more substantial since their arrival in Orlais.

Marian opened her mouth and Fenris deepened the kiss, his tongue dipping between her lips eager to feel the heat inside. He pulled away and took her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging and worrying it until she arched into him.

"Marian," Fenris said near her ear. The sound sent a shiver down her spine and she found it difficult to pay attention to his words. "Do you..."

"Maker yes," Marian breathlessly answered. She could not ignore her throbbing, and although she detested her body she would not be denied the feel of his. "But do not uncover me."

The request was not unexpected, but it hurt Fenris to see that his once confident and proud lover had been reduced to this painful, self conscious woman. He would be patient, and in time he would show her that his attraction had not waned due to her injuries. With that in mind, Fenris did not hesitate to begin his pleasurable torture. It had been three months since their last intimate encounter and his body ached to join with her again.

Fenris nuzzled his head into the valley of her neck, taking in the smell of his lover's skin; a mixture of lavender and honey. Marian rolled her head to the side to fully expose her neck to his touch. He showered her skin with feathery kisses so light and gentle a chill ran through her body and goose bumps rose upon her skin. The sensation was sublime. It had been too long and there had been too much pain, but this... she did not want it to end. Her body craved to be free of its frustration and it was much deserved after what she had endured.

Fenris outlined Marian's breast on her gown, a teasing way to question whether she wanted him to touch it. He chuckled when she took his hand and pushed it against her breast.

"It is fine," Marian whispered. "Do as you please."

'Do as you please' was a phrase Fenris did not expect, but he would take advantage of her charitable mood before it changed. He slid his hand under her gown to knead her breast firmly and rolled her nipple between his fingers until it hardened to a firm peak. The touch forced a small groan from Marian and she writhed beneath him. Her hands began to explore his body and when they descended to his erection, Fenris thrust his hips forward.

"Maker's breath, you are hard, Fenris," Marian whispered in his ear. "I am going to guess you are as frustrated as me."

"You have no idea," Fenris said and he found it impossible to speak further once she started to rub his cock.

Her fingers traced the outline of his ear, a touch that often frustrated him and he would either come or open her legs and fuck her until he had his fill. He grabbed her hand before she could begin to twiddle the points of his ears. Marian smirked. Her plan to make him extremely horny had worked.

"I must admit that I did not expect you to be so willing," Fenris said. His voice was husky, laced with arousal. "But I have no complaints."

Fenris dipped his head under the blankets and raised Marian's nightgown above her breasts. He felt her body tense; no doubt she was worried he would find her less desirable because of the scarring on her stomach. But Fenris did not hesitate. He took one of her perfect breasts and began to circle it with his tongue while he kneaded the other with his hand. Marian ran her nails down his arms stopping at his biceps to admire their muscular strength. When the teasing became too much for her, she grabbed Fenris's hand and placed it between her legs. The wetness had seeped onto her folds and he used it to lubricate her clit. His finger circled and teased until he was certain Marian was close to erupting.

"Marian," Fenris whispered. The heat of his breath near her ear sent a shiver down her spine. By nature, she was not shy, but the thought of being intimate with Fenris always made her coy. It was his aroused voice that caused the butterflies in her stomach. "How do you want to proceed, my love?"

She kissed him fully on the lips, the taste bringing back pleasurable memories of the intimate moments they had shared in the past, which she now replayed in her mind. "On my side," she said.

He wanted to object. Fenris loved to watch her face as she climaxed, to see the reward for the pleasure he had given Marian. But he understood it was too soon. There would be time to help her find the confidence she once possessed during sex.

Marian rolled over onto her side. A crisscross of scars marred her back, but he was undeterred. Fenris unlaced his trousers and freed his erection. Marian pushed her ass against it eager to feel him inside, to be joined, and together find their release. He parted her legs just enough and slipped inside as they both groaned from the delight of being united.

"I have missed you, Marian" Fenris whispered. "You are everything to me."

After the ordeal and the agony she had caused, his words did not feel deserved. It was painful to see that his love for her had not diminished. She wanted to be punished, wanted him to hate her because it would be easier than living with the knowledge that he had almost been killed by her stupidity.

Fenris felt some hesitation in Marian, but he believed if he stopped then it would only increase her doubt. His finger slid between her legs and he rubbed her clit as he thrust inside. Marian wanted to tell him to stop. She felt unworthy of the pleasure, but it was sublime and she was frustrated beyond reason.

"Harder," she said and the breathless need in her voice urged Fenris onwards.

The force of his thrust increased in intensity, slowly, making certain not to cause her unnecessary pain. But Marian wanted more and as she rode him harder he deepened the penetration. The cry she let loose as the euphoria rushed through her body, sent Fenris over the edge. His thrusts became unrestrained for whole minutes, crying out as he lost all self control, as he came inside Marian, not wanting the feeling to end. Their bodies remained joined long after they had finished. Fenris held her and whispered loving words into her ear and Marian finally allowed her mind a moment of peace.

"It is obvious it has been some time since either of us has been touched," she said. "Unless, while I was unconscious you…"

"I what?" Fenris asked, his words sharp and to the point. The annoyance in his voice made Marian giggle. "Yes, after killing Burgamond and then watching a possessed dwarf take on an army of templars, I decided to visit The Rose."

Marian bit back a laugh. "Why would you do that when there's Isabela?" she asked. "I wouldn't consider it cheating. She's more like a public service."

"Marian, I am no longer listening," Fenris said and he rolled his eyes. "You should also be aware that Solivitus would see it as infidelity and not a public service."

"I still can't believe those two are together," Marian said. "Sol is a wonderful man and Isabela is… a woman, but they are two very different types of people."

Fenris laid his hand over hers and smirked. "The same has been said of us and yet here we are."

Marian considered his words. How many times had people laughed and mocked them when they strolled through Hightown with their hands entwined? She supposed the same could happen if Isabela and Sol were to show public affection. It did not make for an easy life to be an odd couple in Kirkwall.

A light knock on the door disrupted Marian's thoughts. She quickly covered her body.

"Fenris, excuse my intrusion, but there is… a problem," Donnic said, apparently unnerved. "Your presence is required in the stable."

The interruption annoyed Fenris. He was still basking in his post-coital glow and now, thanks to Donnic it was snuffed out. Three months with no sex equaled one very frustrated elf. "It can wait," Fenris grumbled.

"I must insist that you come," Donnic said. "I would not ask if it could wait."

"I insist you come too," Marian whispered and she sniggered quietly into the pillow. His scowl increased her laughter. "Oh Fenris you should go see what he wants. It's not like I am going anywhere."

Fenris sighed. "Go away!"

"Fenris," Donnic pleaded. "You have to see to this."

"I do not," Fenris replied in a childlike manner.

"Yes you do," Donnic said and he laughed at the absurdity of their discussion. "As Marian said, it cannot wait."

"Hi Donnic," Marian said to the door. "How are you?"

"I'm well. And you?"

"Can't complain."

Fenris hit Marian over the head with his pillow and threw back the covers. "Fine," he growled. "I will be back," he added to Marian in a deep frustrated whisper. "I expect you to be ready for me again, woman."

"Yes my Lord Broodyship," Marian said and laughed. "I will if you will."

"Bah," Fenris said and he slammed the door on his way out.

He heard Marian's laughter and smiled. It had been a sound he had sorely missed. Fenris turned to Donnic, his posture rigid and his face colored by annoyance.

"What is so important that it could not wait?" Fenris asked. The acidic tone of his voice amused Donnic. "I did not wish to be disturbed."

Donnic had heard Fenris and Marian's exertions throughout the house. He was horrified to find Isabela happily listening in the adjacent bedroom. "So I gathered," Donnic said. "But I would not disturb your privacy if it was not important."

"This house is far too small for all of us to be living under the same roof," Fenris said. "I cringe every time I leave my room."

"I agree," Donnic said and he sighed. "You should be thankful your room is not near Isabela and Sol's bedroom."

Fenris shook his head and gave Donnic a droll look. "That was on purpose."

They walked from the house into the garden. Before Fenris could continue to the stables, Donnic held out his hand and signaled for him to stop.

"You should be aware that Alistair encountered a mage in the stable," Donnic said and he sighed. Speaking to Fenris of mages did not make for a happy conversation. "Apparently she has been living in the hayloft."

Fenris's eyes narrowed. "A blood mage?"

"I… don't think so," Donnic said laughing, much to Fenris's annoyance. "Come, you have to see this for yourself."

The two friends quickly covered the ground from the cottage to the stable. Upon entering, Fenris was presented with a curious sight. Alistair, his horse, two chickens and a woman were encased in large blocks of ice. Their heads remained free, but their bodies were covered. The chickens, to Fenris's amusement, had fallen onto their sides and were pecking at the ice.

Anders, he noticed, was tracing the outline of two glyphs with his finger. He was holding a book and flipping through the pages. "I've never seen glyphs like these," Anders said to Sol. "Have you?"

"No," Sol confirmed and he looked over Ander's shoulder at a page in the book. "What about you, Merrill?"

"The Keeper might know, but she is too far away to ask," she added. "They are very pretty… like snowflakes."

Fenris noticed that there were two ornate glowing glyphs on the ground blocking the path to Alistair and the mage. He had seen many types of magic in his days cast by some of the most powerful mages in the world, yet never had he come across any that resembled these in both complexity and beauty.

"Okay, I think we've established that they are pretty and no one knows what they do, but can you melt the ice?" Alistair asked. "I can't feel my toes and... other important parts of my body."

The unknown mage turned to Alistair. "At least your body is covered in armor. The ice went up my robe."

"Maker's breath," Alistair huffed. "Why do these things happen to me?"

Fenris studied the mage frozen next to Alistair. She was a small woman with a mousy face and frizzy long dark hair. Her robes, unlike most mage's gaudy garments, were adorned with a delicate floral pattern set against a background of white. Other than her taste in clothing, the woman was very plain, until it came to her eyes. They were bright hazel puppy eyes.

"Would someone explain this to me?" Fenris asked. "I want to know why the mage has yet to release-," he looked around the barn at the frozen animals "-the stables from its icy prison."

Sol pointed to the ground. "The glyphs may be dangerous. We have tried to dispel them, but they will not dissipate."

Fenris's eyes narrowed onto the mage. She smiled back but when he scowled she responded by scrunching her face into a ball of pure obstinacy.

"The mage will not cooperate?" Fenris stared at the strange woman. She was blowing on the ice. "What… is she doing?"

"I'm trying to make the ice melt faster," the mage said. "You know, hot breath, cold things and then it goes all melty. Also, I have a name."

Sol shook his head and sighed. There had been a plethora of personalities in the Circle, but he had never come across a mage this unusual. "She is inept or insane, or both. I haven't decided which yet," he explained. "She does not know how to dispel the glyphs and does not know if they are dangerous."

"I don't have a clue," the mage said as she frowned at the glowing patterns near her feet. "Usually they fade with time. We'll just have to wait."

Alistair's eyes widened for a second before glaring at the mage. "What?" he yelled. "I'm turning purple. Get me out of here."

"Can you not melt the ice?" Fenris asked the mage. "Are you unable to cast fire?"

The mage appeared to consider Fenris's question. It took longer than usual for her to answer, as if he had spoken in a foreign tongue.

"I can't move my hands," the mage said. She stared down at the glyphs while the others continued to try and decipher them. Her once constipated expression melted and in its place came a look of serenity. "Of course," she said to everyone's surprise. "Now I remember what they do."

"This should be good," Anders said as he smiled.

"The glyphs will melt the ice," the mage answered with confidence. "I need two volunteers."

Anders took a step backwards. "What?" he asked. "I don't think that is going to happen. If you like, I can shoot a fireball at you two. Hopefully it will only kill Alistair."

"Oh ha ha," Alistair said. "Aren't you the funny one?"

The mage surveyed the stables. Her face lit up when she noticed the frozen chickens. "If no one will do it then put two chickens on each glyph," she said. "That should, in theory, work."

Sol picked up one frozen chicken and Anders another. They stood as far from the glyphs as possible before throwing the chickens onto them. The glyphs sizzled and with a loud pop the chickens exploded. Feathers and giblets flew in all directions, and in the air was the scent of coq au vin.

"Those poor chickens," Merrill said and she began to pick the feathers from her hair. "At least it was quick." She sniffed the air. "The smell is making me hungry."

"And you wanted volunteers," Alistair said. He realized he had moved his arm. "Maker… oh look I'm free, but I can't feel anything."

The mage picked a large feather and some entrails out of Alistair's hair. "You just need a hot cup of tea and a bath."

He pushed her hand away. "Yes, that will fix everything. My hair!"

The mage laid her hands on her hips and feigned offense. "You underestimate the power of tea!"

"What is wrong with you?" Alistair asked, two octaves higher than usual. He was exasperated by her comments. "You iced me, poor Camembert and exploded two chickens. Why should I trust anything you say?"

"You named your horse after a cheese?" The mage asked. She stared at him with a suspicious glare. "How odd…"

Alistair pointed to his chest. "Are you really calling me odd?"

Fenris drew his blade and held it to the mage's throat. He was concerned that she may be a spy for the templars, or worse from Tevinter. "Who are you?"

The mage ignored the threat and took a seat on a pile of hay. She brought her knees to her chest. "I told you I have a name. I am Petunia Pendragon, but you can call me Tunie," she said. "I have been living in this stable long before you arrived."

"So you're an apostate," Alistair said. "Great, just what we needed."

Tunie shot him a look. "That's a rather rude and presumptuous thing to say, don't you think?"

"Excuse me?" Alistair said and he was offended by her offense. "Mages living outside of the Circle are considered apostates and that's illegal. So... did escape from the Circle or have your parents kept you hidden?"

She seemed to consider his question before offering an answer. "I never understood why they call it the circle," Tunie said. "There are no circles in the Circle."

"I think she is insane," Anders said. "Are the templars searching for you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

"What do you mean?" Alistair asked. "Where are you from?"

"I don't remember," Tunie said and she wrote her name in the dirt with her finger. "It's all very vague."

Sol stepped forward. He was tiring of the conversation and the woman who could not or would not give a normal answer. "You remember nothing of your life before being here?"

"Well I probably do, but not right now," Tunie said. She continued to draw patterns in the dirt. Anders hoped it wouldn't produce another glyph. "I remember that the templars tried to make me tranquil. It didn't quite work," she said. "I apologized of course. No one wants to be bad at their job."

"The templars were unable to make you tranquil?" Alistair asked. "That doesn't seem very likely."

"Why did they decide to make you tranquil, Tunie?" said Anders. "Were you dabbling in blood magic?"

"Maker, no!" Tunie exclaimed. "I have never understood why anyone would want to cut their wrist, bleed all over the place and then heal it back up. It's gross and stains your clothes. It's just not for me." Tunie picked up a piece of straw and started breaking it into little pieces. "It was my father's idea. He thought it best. You see… I can't control my magic or make it do anything useful."

"You don't say." Alistair said in a sarcastic tone. "And here I thought mages liked to freeze each other for fun."

"That's horrible," Anders said. He deliberately ignored Alistair's remark. "Your own father gave you to the templars and asked them to make you tranquil?"

"The templars do not usually invoke the right of tranquility because someone requests it," Alistair said. "They need a good reason to do that to a mage."

"Of course you would be the one to defend them," Anders said. "You don't want to believe there are those who would abuse their power and say they did it in the name of the Maker."

Alistair crossed his arms over his chest and took on an objectionable stance. "If Solona were here I think she would disagree that I defend the templars."

The stable grew quiet. Anders had crossed the line and he knew it. But he refused to apologize in front of the others. He would wait and speak with Alistair in private.

"Why did the templars agree to your father's request?" Sol asked. "They would not do so without cause."

Tunie sighed. "My father is Uther Pendragon," she said. "He has more influence in Starkhaven than the ruling family."

"Uther Pendragon is your father? Maker's breath, he's the most brilliant man in all of Thedas," Alistair said. "Didn't he invent the ballista or the catapult or something else that throws things?

"If you bought it and found it useful then my father probably invented it," Tunie said. "Unlike him, I invent things that are completely useless. Do you know how hard it is to be the daughter of an insane evil genius?"

"No not really," Alistair replied. "What's so insane about making something useful?"

"Shows what you know," Tunie said. "He wants to steal everyone's left sock."

"But... socks aren't like shoes," Merrill added. "They don't come in left and right."

Tunie lifted her arms and flailed them about excited by Merrill's revelation. "See! That's what I mean. Insane evil, successful genius. He's also trying to find me. But I can't go back. Please don't make me go back."

"Are we supposed to believe that you are some unfortunate mage that the templars want to make tranquil because your father said so?" Fenris asked. "You must think we are fools."

Sol considered Tunie and the stories he had heard of Uther Pendragon. As with any famous person there came the gossip. He was a renowned inventor, known even to the Quanari, a man the nobles regaled, patronized by royalty and admired by the learned. But there were also dark rumors concerning his supposed inhumane experiments, some that may have involved children and even babies. Sol had always dismissed it as hearsay, but now that he had heard Tunie's story, he began to wonder if they were true.

"I have heard he is rather... eccentric", Sol said. "I suppose it is not too far fetched to believe that his mind lingers on strange obsessions."

"It still doesn't explain why the templars were unable to make you tranquil," Alistair said. "What happened?"

Tunie shrugged. "I don't know. One minute I was in the Fade being chased, the next I was awake and all the templars were asleep around me. I waited for them to wake up but they didn't, and I got bored, so I just left."

"You... walked out of the building without being accosted?" Sol asked. "No one noticed?"

"Everyone was asleep, there was no accosting," Tunie said. "It was kind of creepy. I think it was one of my father's experiments to see if he could stop them from making me tranquil. I guess it worked.

Anders held up his hands, horrified by what he was hearing. "Why would anyone do that to their own daughter?" he asked.

"Do I need to keep repeating 'insane evil genius'?" Tunie said. "One of his favorite hobbies is to burn ants with a magnifying glass and pull the buds off of rosebushes so they cannot flower. Need I say more?"

Merrill covered her mouth. "That's awful."

"Please hold your tongue," Fenris said. He stepped forward and pointed his sword down at Tunie. "You are to leave this place. Do not return, mage, or you will regret it."

The tears began to well in Tunie's eyes, but Fenris ignored it. He sheathed his sword and walked back towards the cottage. An awkward silence followed in his wake.

Alistair felt that no one deserved to be treated with such disdain, regarless of their propensity to encase others in ice. It reminded him of the reactions Solona received when people found out she was a mage and it moved him to pity.

"So… what are you going to do now?" Alistair asked.

Tunie wiped the tears from her eyes and stared down at her feet. "I don't know. I guess find another stable to sleep in."

"You can stay here," Anders said. "I won't see a mage fall prey to either the templars or evil insane geniuses."

Tunie smiled. "But... the mean elf said I have to leave."

"I will smooth that out," Donnic said. "Fenris can be a bit abrupt, and quick to judge concerning a mage, but he is a good man."

"Why? What did I ever do to him?" Tunie asked. "Sure, I froze the stable solid and killed the chickens, but it wasn't on purpose."

Donnic was reminded that he still had feathers and offal in his hair. He wiped them away while he spoke. "You personally did nothing. He detests magic."

"So do I," Tunie said to everyone's surprise. "It's awful and it smells funny."

"Why do you think magic smells funny?" Anders asked.

"Maybe that's just me," Tunie said.

"I think so," Alistair said. "Where is she going to sleep? Aren't all the rooms taken?"

Tunie looked up to the loft with a look of fondness. Alistair would have called it infatuation. "I can sleep in the stable. I like the aroma."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow and smirked. The crazy mage was starting to win him over, which made him question his own sanity. "You like the smell of piss and shit?"

"You get used to it," Tunie said. "Trust me, it's an improvement compared to where I used to sleep. There was this really fat..."

"Right, well forget I asked." Alistair interrupted. He turned to Sol. "There's the workman's cottages. They're empty. I think if we keep you away from Fenris he might not care so much."

"Not a bad idea," Donnic said. "They seem to be in good repair, although there is a minor infestation of mice, but considering she has been sleeping in the stables, I would say it is an improvement."

Tunie angily threw a handful of straw at the wall. The pretty, twisting falling golden strands did not make the statement she had intended. She considered throwing dried up horse dung, but even she had standards. "You just want to keep me away from everyone. I understand."

"No it's not like that." Alistair said and he sounded sincere. "Believe it or not I think it's for the best. Fenris is scary when he is angry. He glows and growls and it will put you right off your gruel."

"The cottages are in good condition," Sol said. "I think in better condition than the main house."

Merrill smiled down at Tunie. "I will get you some blankets and help with the cleaning if you want."

"I would appreciate it," Tunie said. She rose from the ground and wiped the straw from her bottom. "Thank you," she said to everyone and bowed her head.

Sol waggled his finger at the young mage. "No casting," he said. "We can train you, but until it is under control I want you to avoid using your magic."

"I will try," Tunie said. "Sometimes when I sneeze fire erupts from my hands and when I…"

"Right, for some reason I don't want you to finish that sentence," Alistair said. He stared at the mess of a mage in front of him and then sighed. She was a disaster, a risk and most likely a danger to not only herself but everyone else. Regardless, Solona would have helped her, and he would too. "I need to see to the horses and pretend today never happened."

Tunie pointed her finger at him "If you hadn't startled me none of this would have happened," she said in her defense. "Why can't you whistle while you work?"

Alistair's brow wrinkled. "What about humming? Is that acceptable?"

"As long as it is a happy tune," Tunie said. She walked to the stable door and peaked outside. "Where do I go?"

Sol pointed in the distance to several small houses. "The cottages are there. You might want to examine the roof for any leaks. I will gather some necessities from the house and meet you in a moment."

Tunie and Merrill began to walk towards the cottage. The others waited until Tunie was out of earshot before gossiping. Sol was eager to tell Isabela about the incident and Alistair was wondering how he could protect himself from her magic. But Anders was intrigued by Tunie. Justice could sense that her magic was special, and he wanted to study it. He began to formulate a plan.


	41. Chapter 41: Fenris Food

Thanks to everyone for your reviews, favs and continued reading. I apologize if I missed replying to reviews for the last chapter. I was sick and more delirious than usual. I will be updating the Story of Marian Hawke soon. It was delayed because of head spinning. I don't know how many people are still interested in it but I thought I'd mention it.

This chapter is a bit of light-hearted Fenris and Marian. It's smutty so look away now if you don't like that sort of thing. I didn't feel like writing anything grim while ill. Have to admit I've missed their playful side.

Thank you!

**Chapter 41: Fenris Food  
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* * *

><p>Fenris placed a tray of fresh fruit, a selection of cheeses, bread and honey on Marian's bedside table. She appreciated the gesture, the same one Fenris had made every morning for a month, but unlike him, she was Fereldan and that meant it was her duty to eat eggs, bacon and lots of gravy. It was unnatural to start the day off with a meal that didn't sit like an anvil in the bowels of her stomach. But she refused to insult his generosity.<p>

Marian eased her body upright. "Thank you, Fenris," she said. A small bud vase filled with sprigs of lavender finished the presentation. Fenris had once again created a work of art, not a plate of food. She took great satisfaction in destroying what she considered rabbit food, or rather, Fenris food.

"You are welcome," Fenris said, pleased that she appeared to be happy with her breakfast.

Marian found the whole affair to be very quaint. If he poured tea next and they started sipping it with their pinkies upright, she was liable to put an apron on Fenris and start calling him duckie. When had they traded their daily dose of dismemberment and abominations for a quiet Orlesian life?

Fenris took a seat on the bed and watched as she nibbled her apple slices. "Would you mind if I…"

"You do this every morning. Here, the apples are yours." She handed the slices over to the eager elf. "I don't know how you live with yourself, Fenris. Stealing apples from the helpless… Do you steal from babies too?"

He popped an apple slice in his mouth. "Only ugly babies," he mumbled. "And you are hardly helpless."

"You are an awful man," Marian said and she laughed. "Sometimes I forget under that spiky amour and grumpy face there is a great sense of humor and a sexy body."

A sweet little smirk played along his lips. It was flirtatious and Marian found it inviting. "Have you failed to notice that I am not wearing armor?" he asked. To his pleasant surprise, she leaned over and kissed him. "If you wish I could be persuaded to wear less."

Marian unlaced the top of his tunic. "Take it off," she requested. "Do it slowly so I can watch your body move."

Fenris threw his tunic to the side. He chuckled at Marian's annoyed expression. She had wanted him to be teased not have him disrobe as if his clothing was on fire. It was a peculiar feeling for him to sit half naked while she ate, ogling his biceps and chest, but if it made her happy, which it seemed to do, then he would endure it.

Marian placed a grape on his belly button. It rolled down over his stomach and landed between his legs.

Fenris raised a disapproving eyebrow at the wayward fruit. "I am offended by your grape."

"I could get that for you if you like," Marian whispered. She ran a stray finger over his belly button down to the top of his leggings and stopped. Marian looked up at him through her long eyelashes and challenged his willpower with a sultry glance.

The teasing was too much. Fenris had missed Marian in his bed and suffered through a long sexual drought. If he thought she was not willing he would forego intimacy and wait, but after their last encounter he was certain she wanted it.

"Temptress," he whispered. His eyes roamed across her neckline, admiring the subtle contours created by her collarbone and the soft round shape of her shoulders. They dropped to the front of her gown. The diaphanous material revealed the features of her breasts, their perfect shape and the nipples that crowned them. "Are you still hungry?"

She graced him with a slim wicked smile. "My face is up here, Fenris."

"I apologize," he said and forced his eyes to a safer place."Is that a new gown?"

Marian snorted through her laughter. "Fenris do not sit there and pretend you were admiring my bedtime clothing. You were staring at my breasts! Practically salivating, I might add."

Fenris glanced at Marian's hand which still rested at the top of his leggings. "What are your intentions?"

"I only wish to retrieve my unruly grape from the vicinity of his lord Broodyship's delightful danglers," Marian said and she grinned when Fenris blushed. "Or would his lordship prefer it to remain?"

"Then retrieve your grape," he said but gave away no emotion. Marian had expected a sexy answer given in his best growly voice. He simply stared at her as if a piece of fruit between his legs was an everyday occurrence. She had underestimated him of course. Fenris snatched her hand and placed it firmly on his hard cock. "Pleasure me," he said. It was a demand not a statement.

Marian smirked. "Pleasure you? She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips. "As his lordship wishes." She started by unlacing his leggings with deliberate slowness. Fenris pushed her hand away in irritation, finishing the unlacing and freeing his erection in less time than it had taken for her to undo the first lace. Marian had never seen him this frustrated or eager for her touch. Without further delay, she wrapped her hand around his cock and began to stroke him in time with the movement of his hips. Fenris titled his head back and focused all of his attention on the feeling of her hand gliding up and down his length.

"Fenris," Marian whispered to him against her better judgment. "Why are you so horny?"

He stopped mid pace and opened one perturbed eye. "I have not been adequately touched for three months. There was little time to see to... my needs. Now will you continue?"

"And if I don't?" she teased.

"Then I will take matters into my own hand," Fenris said and he laughed at his pun. "Marian," he whispered tenderly. "I desire to be with you. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Well..." She looked down at his erection and her hand that grasped it. "This isn't being with me. It's Mrs. Palm and her five lovely daughters. I feel kind of left out."

Fenris smacked her hand away. "Your pillow talk leaves much to be desired." He moved from the bed and walked to Marian's bedside. Before she could object, Fenris had removed the covers, grabbed her ankles and pulled her flat on her back. The heels of her feet were resting on his chest. "We will do this my way."

He kissed each of her feet in turn and began to massage her toes.

"Fenris," Marian eventually managed to whisper. His massages were legendary. "Are you going to undress me?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. He was smiling at her, that lazy easy going smile that made the heat rise in her face and her cheeks blush. "I am going to remove your small clothes so you are fully exposed to me and when I am ready, I will remove your gown."

He untied her small clothes and then wrapped his hands around her ankles and spread her legs apart. Marian wanted to cover her body, hide it away from his prying eyes, but his possessive hold and lustful gaze filled her with longing. To know he was taking his pleasure from the sight of her body made her feel beautiful, desirable and feminine. She had missed the thrill of those emotions.

"The things I wish to do to you Marian are not fit to be said aloud," Fenris said. He pushed her legs to her chest and knelt upon the bed between her outspread thighs. "I could have you right now but that would hardly be fair."

Marian closed her eyes and thought of Fenris inside her, taking his pleasure in an animalistic way until she uncoiled and came upon him. "You want me do you not?"

"Yes," Marian said and her back arched towards him. He watched as her thighs attempted to press together, the need of him starting to make her ache within, but he would not allow it. "Fenris stop it," she said. "You are being too much of a tease."

Fenris chuckled. "You like it, Marian." He leaned over her body and she could feel his erection against her lips. She was tempted to take him in hand and guide him inside, but she waited to see what he would do next. The tip of his tongue slid up her neck and ended at the bottom of her earlobe. "You are such a horny bitch," he whispered in her ear.

"Fenris!" Marian said surprised by his interesting choice of words. "Why are you being so crude?"

The sound of his soft laughter made her aware that he was beyond reason. Fenris was secretly wicked in the bedroom, unlike his usual public appearance which consisted of brooding and the odd joke. But when they were alone together his antagonistic side came out to play. Marian enjoyed it. She felt privileged to see another side to the enigmatic elf.

Fenris repositioned his body so that the head of his cock was near her entrance. He rubbed his hard shaft over her swollen lips and they were moistened with her wetness.

"Maker, Fenris. I want to beat you to death and fuck you at the same time," Marian said and she gasped. Fenris had started to massage her clit with the head of his cock.

The heat from his breath, the brush of his lips over her nipples tantalized every nerve. The pleasurable sensation began to overwhelm her and she was brought to near completion several times, but always denied fulfillment.

"Fenris, if you do not stop that I am going to castrate you," Marian said through clenched teeth. "I am horny and extremely pissed off. Do me already or go away so I can finish the job you started."

Fenris lay down at her side and ran a lazy finger between her breasts. Marian slapped it away and her eyes narrowed.

"I will only give you your release if you are on top," Fenris said. The humor in her face drained and in its place could clearly be seen sadness. "Marian, please do this for me."

"Fenris you know that I am hardly comfortable with my body. Why would you..."

"You were willing to die for me when you confronted Burgamond. Were you not?"

"Yes, of course, Fenris," Marian whispered. She stroked his cheek tenderly taking time to admire the blush that always lingered. "I would have done anything to keep you safe."

"Then live for me," Fenris whispered.

Their lips met in a fiery embrace. Marian wanted to deny him, push him away because it felt just. For many years she had tried to understand Anders and his ramblings concerning the spirit of Justice, but his explanations sounded illogical. Now she understood. Justice is not happy, it is righteous, it is hard and your mistakes cannot always be forgiven. But if she denied Fenris her love then what was the point of the sacrifices, of the deaths and the brutal battles her friends had fought out of love and friendship? He deserved better and she would either end it now and justice would be served or she would accept that he loved her regardless of the flaws and move on.

Marian pushed Fenris gently aside and stood. He did not dare move. The woman before him, he realized, was placing her faith in his insistent declaration that nothing had changed for him; he loved her unconditionally.

She crawled onto the bed until she loomed over Fenris. He eased back onto to the bed but his eyes remained fixed firmly on her face. This was not easy for Marian, baring herself before him in the light of day. Every scar, every flaw was on show but it did not dampen his love for the woman that had pulled him out of his miserable existence and given him purpose beyond revenge; it intensified it.

She climbed on top and he entered. Fenris urged her downwards, to his lips and they kissed and their tongues entwined. After they were satiated and their love reaffirmed, he repositioned his hips and began to thrust in slow, methodical strokes.

"Is that the correct spot?" He asked Marian.

"Yes," she said with effort. "Please do not stop."

"I daren't," Fenris said and he chuckled. "Making a woman angry when she is in reach of your testicles is not wise, so I have been told."

Marian shook her head. "Shut up Fenris."

"I feel so used," Fenris said and he smirked when she rolled her eyes. "However, I do find it an acceptable use of my body."

"Very kind of you," she whispered.

The feeling of euphoria began to mount within Marian. It spread throughout her body, consuming her feelings until there was nothing left but the sensation between her legs. The pace increased as the pleasure surged and Fenris watched as the woman he loved finally let go of her inhibitions. When she came the cry from her throat was thunderous. The sound reverberated throughout the room like the beating of a drum. Marian collapsed upon his chest, tears streaming from her eyes and to his wonderful surprise she laughed.

"I let go," Marian panted. "I fell away and it was sublime."

Fenris brushed the sodden strands of hair from her face. Beneath he saw his beautiful lover as she had been before her ordeal with Burgamond. "I knew you could not resist me for long," he said and they laughed together.

"Now..." She sat upright, teasing his cock with a squeeze of her inner muscles. "I should see to you."

"Mmmm," he hummed. "You should."

Marian ran a finger down the shell of one pointy ear. Fenris immediately responded with a thrust of his hips. She watched with pride as his cheeks bloomed a bright shade of crimson. It reminded her of the day she had inadvertently discovered his ears to be an erogenous zone. Lothering, a small town in the middle of nowhere and being a mage in hiding was not conducive to an in-depth knowledge of other races. Elves kept to themselves for good reason and apostates did not draw attention. So when she first tweaked his ear in the middle of Kirkwall's market district and he screamed like a little girl, Marian became aware that his ears were sensitive. Later, after they were alone he explained why touching them was the equivalent of grabbing his penis. Marian had laughed to Fenris's annoyance. It was two days before he would speak to her again.

Fenris grabbed her hips and controlled the pace. As she rubbed the tips of both ears his back arched off of the bed and he reached full penetration. The markings flared to life, their brightness more intense than she could remember, and with one final thrust he filled her within. Fenris's body came back to rest upon the bed, limp and covered in sweat. He looked completely satisfied like a cat napping in the afternoon sun. She knew what would happen next. He would take her into his arms, curl up behind her and doze and really, she could think of nothing better.


	42. Chapter 42: The Breakfast Club Part I

Thank you everyone for your reviews, favs and well wishing. I am feeling better. :)

Thanks a million to all my regular reviewers and those who send me good vibes through pm's. Love to you! By the way, and you know who you are, I'd say stripper if I had the body for it ;) and I stole your sentence. Muwahahaha.

This chapter has been split. Tunie is the reader's fault. I cannot be held responsible for her need to torture Alistair. This is something I wrote while sick. If it's more terrible than usual, blame the fever.

**Chapter 42: The Breakfast Club**

* * *

><p>Breakfast was often a traumatic experience for Alistair. Every morning the group would gather around the table to eat and discuss the agenda for the day. If that was not necessary, Alistair would eat alone, in the safety of his own room, but usually Sol and Donnic insisted everyone be present in the kitchen.<p>

It had become obvious after some disastrous dining experiences that there were four people who could cook an adequate meal. Sol prepared meals of sustenance, Petunia was an extraordinary cook as long as she did not get inventive with the spices, Fenris excelled at meat dishes, and Alistair had a talent for gravy and a side order of potatoes. The others possessed less life-sustaining culinary skills. Merrill could bake well enough, Isabela was a master when it came to toast and Anders understood the thermodynamics of char-grilled.

Today it was Petunia's turn, and as much as Alistair was thankful he did not have to cook, he was also terrified.

In the kitchen Merrill and Tunie were working together in perfect harmony. The Dalish elf and strange mage had become close friends. Alistair was not surprised by their friendship since the two women enjoyed nature, were oblivious to danger and incessantly babbled. The truth, though he hated to admit it, was that he enjoyed their company more than the others. Maybe it was their sense of innocence or light-hearted, mindless banter, whatever it was, they made him laugh.

Alistair had taken a seat next to Donnic. The guardsman was blessed with a healthy dose of sanity compared to his comrades. He discussed in lengthy detail the repairs needed for the house, determined, it seemed, to mend every crack and hole in the old cottage.

"Alistair, are you skilled with wood?" Donnic asked. "I have acquired the lumber needed for the east side of the house but I possess only a rudimentary knowledge of building."

"I'm not a builder," Alistair said. "I can cut it and nail it. That's about it."

Isabela sighed. "I told you I can help. I know how to repair a ship. How hard can it be to build a house?"

"Not this again," Sol said. "It's not a ship, it's a house, Isabela. Besides, I am certain you had your men repair your ship. I can't imagine you bent over with a hammer and nails."

"You can't imagine me bent over?" Isabela said and she laughed at Sol's rosy blush. It clashed with his auburn hair. "I suppose you don't need to since..."

Sol closed his eyes and shook his head. "Maker, please don't get descriptive, Isabela" he moaned. "You will put people off of their breakfast."

"I've always wondered what kind of sailors would want to work for you Isabela," Anders commented. "Were they desperate or stupid?"

_Wonderful, _Sol thought_. It's not even mid morning and Anders has already started with his first insult of the day. I find it peculiar that his antagonistic behavior has been directed at Isabela of late. She can be spirited, usually with me, but she barely speaks to Anders. So why does he insist on trying to lure her into an argument? _Sol watched as Anders eyes drifted from Isabela to Tunie. He had noticed Anders observations of the unusual mage on more than one occasion. He was studying her and Sol wanted to know why.

"Hey, I resent that," Isabela said. "My crew thought I was a great captain."

Sol decided to redirect the attention away from Isabela. The others were not aware but he could tell that Anders comment had hurt her feelings. She was tough as nails and sharp witted, but not made of stone. The subject of her mother and the destruction of her ship were topics best avoided.

"If you were a pirate what would you rather look at: Isabela's breasts or a peg-legged man with a missing eye and a beard infested with lice?" Sol asked.

"Point proven," Anders said.

She smirked and Sol knew that she was thankful for his timely intervention.

"You always know how to make a woman feel special," Isabela said to Sol. "How did I live this long without you?"

"I'm quite the charmer, my dear," Sol said to her amusement. His attention turned from the beautiful woman at his side to the harrowed woman in the kitchen. "Tunie... do you need help with breakfast?"

Tunie pointed her spatula at Sol and waggled it. "You cannot rush perfection!"

Today Alistair noted that Tunie was wearing a garish yellow dress blotted with random white tulips. It looked as if spring had lost control of its bowels. As usual her long dark frizzy hair was flowing over her shoulders and down her back. He was starting to wonder if Tunie was more hair than woman. Merrill was humming a tune while serving up the food. It was a dysfunctional ballet of spatulas and dishes.

Tunie plopped the first plate of her culinary masterpiece in front of Isabela. The pirate stared at the food as if it would bite back. Alistair was particularly amused to find it arranged in the shape of a smiley face.

Isabela looked up at Tunie. "What is this?"

"The smile is made of gingerbread crepes with rum sauced bananas and maple rum yogurt. The eyes are stone-ground polenta patties with aged Gouda, chives and sun-dried tomatoes. The nose is a scone." Tunie frowned at Alistair. "I added sausage to the side because the big brute won't eat anything but meat."

"Hey," Alistair protested. "If it tastes good I'll eat it even if I can't pronounce it."

Sol studied the food closely, noting how expertly it had been cooked. "Tunie, where did you get the ingredients for this meal? We have only the basics stocked in the larder."

"It's rum, my favorite," Isabela said to Sol. "Don't question it."

"I went to the market," Tunie said. "I don't eat meat. It interferes with the purity of my aura and since Alistair only cooks things that crow, squeal or moo, I had no choice."

Donnic crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "Tunie, we agreed that I am the only one who is to go to the market. We must maintain a low profile."

"But the villagers know me," Tunie argued. "I have been healing them for months."

The thought of Tunie using magic in public annoyed Anders. As far as he was concerned, she was liable to make a wound worse not heal it properly. "Maker's breath," Anders said. "How have you lived this long without getting caught by the templars?"

"I've done a better job than you, Mr.-escaped-seven-times-and-caught-again," Tunie said. "If you don't want to not eat it, that's fine." A crepe slid lethargically off of her spatula and landed on the plate with a sad thump. "I wasted a double negative on you, Anders. I can't believe it."

"Tunie," Sol said in a warm reassuring tone. "We appreciate what you have done for us. It is very kind. But I must ask: how were you able to afford these ingredients? They are not cheap."

"I bought it with my own money," Tunie said. "Why? Did you think I stole from the villagers? I would never do that."

Merrill walked to Tunie's side. She was going to defend her friend against the bullying of the others. "Tunie's very rich," the elf chimed in. "She has a whole chest full of gold and jewels and the prettiest crystals. They are for healing."

Isabela patted the empty chair at her side. "Come sit here, sweet thing," she said to Tunie. "You and I should get to know each other better."

"Oh that's not obvious at all," Alistair said. His eyes narrowed in on Isabela. He knew she was trying to use her wily ways to gain some of Tunie's coin. "Why don't you just ask her for a game of Wicked Grace? You could cheat her out of the money like any self respecting pirate."

Tunie sauntered over to the table and took a seat next to Isabela. "You play cards?"

"I love to play cards," Isabela said in a deep husky voice. "I love to play many things."

Sol sighed at Isabela. She winked at him in response. "I'll get the rest of the food and leave Isabela to her flirting."

"You're flirting with me?" Tunie asked. She sounded in awe, as if she were speaking to the Maker. "Wow, no one has ever flirted with me. How does this work?"

"Just let me lead, kitten," Isabela crooned. "You'll have the men or... women," she added in a sultry voice, "where you want them in no time."

"Where do I want them?" Tunie asked. "Do you think I could get them to clean the dishes? I made a mess."

Isabela laughed. "That's not exactly what I had in mind." She ran a stray finger down Tunie's arm. "So... do you prefer men or women?"

"I like Merrill," Tunie said. "She's nice and picks flowers."

Anders laughed. "She wants to know if you like to have sex with men or women." He frowned at Isabela. "Why are you doing this? You don't honestly want to sleep with Tunie. It would be taking advantage."

"Isabela excels at that," Sol said. He placed a plate in front of Donnic. "I should know."

Alistair's lip curled and he leaned away from the table. "Just don't," he said. "That's too much information for me."

"So?" Isabela purred. "Do you prefer an inny or an outy, Tunie?"

Tunie seemed to consider the question seriously for a moment. "I don't know," she said. "I've never experienced external or internal, though if we are talking human anatomy I would probably prefer external. It gets creepy inside."

"She's a virgin," Anders said as he poked the crepe with his fork. He wasn't sure what he was looking for in the food, but since Tunie had cooked it, he thought it best to examine it closely. "What a surprise."

"Can you even remember being with another person, Anders?" Sol asked. The amused expression on his face pleased Isabela. She knew he was deliberately insulting Anders for his earlier comment concerning her pirating abilities. Sol had a way of cataloguing information and then using it at the most opportune time to get back at someone. "It has been many years correct? I remember you said that Justice doesn't approve of romantic relations."

"I never told you that," Anders said. "The only person who knew..."

"Ah, I wasn't supposed to repeat her words," Sol said and he smirked. "Sorry."

Anders rolled his eyes. He was relieved that Fenris was not present to revel in his embarrassment. "You did that on purpose," he said. "Why did Hawke tell you about my personal life?"

"You would be surprised what Marian has told me," Sol said and he winked. "Some of it I dare not repeat in front of our innocent company."

"Maker I hate you," Anders said and he took an angry bite of his crepe.

"Let us eat this delicious meal Tunie prepared and stop bickering," Sol said. "After all, we have the rest of the day to irritate the piss out of each other."

"I'm starving," Alistair said. "I'll eat anything, even Tunie's cooking." He smiled at Tunie to show that he was being playful. Tunie did not understand his sense of humor and glared at him. "I was only joking, Tunie."

"Ignore them," Isabela said. "You never did answer me, Tunie. Which do you prefer?"

"I'm not sure," Tunie said. "Women are nice and I'm a woman. Men are hairy, smelly and annoying. She laid her head down on the table frustrated that she could not make a decision. "So... maybe women? Yes? No? I don't know."

Isabela petted the back of Tunie's head. The mage's hair became frizzier with each stroke. "There's only one way to find out." Isabela said. "You'll have to bed one."

"Wait," Tunie said and her head popped up from the table. She was excited by her epiphany. "I have a better idea. Can I squeeze your breasts?"

Sol choked on his juice and Alistair spat out his sausage.

"Maker's breath," Alistair said. "You're not serious, Tunie."

"How else am I supposed to know?" Tunie asked. "Would you rather I go through life unfulfilled Alistair?" She gave him a wide-eyed stare and neared his face. "Would you?"

"I'd prefer you find your fulfillment elsewhere not at the breakfast table," Alistair said. "Can't you two go get a room?"

Tunie had already placed her hands on Isabela's breasts. She gave them a firm but gentle squeeze. "They are pert, very robust I might add, with a hint of hardened nipple."

"Am I dreaming?" Anders said. "Is she really groping Isabela?"

Tunie shook her head. "No, I'm sorry," she said in a melancholy tone. "It had no effect other than making me crave a glass of milk."

"It did have an effect," Sol said and he laughed. "Tunie, you are unusual to say the least."

"Damn, rejected by a virgin," Isabela said. "You're making me lose my touch, Sol. If I can't seduce young naive people into bed then what do I have to look forward to?"

Merrill clapped her hands. "This is so exciting," she said. "So you like men, Tunie? We will have to find you a boyfriend."

"I'm not sure I like men, Merrill," Tunie said. "Let me see..."

Tunie reached over and grabbed Alistair's crotch. He leapt out of his chair and jumped backwards. "Andraste's tits, what is wrong with you?" He yelled in a squeaky voice. "You can't... no! Just no!"

Donnic, Isabela, Merrill and Anders were laughing too hard to speak. Tunie wasn't sure why the incident was humorous. As far as she was concerned it was a very important experiment.

"Well?" Sol asked. He started laughing again. "Do you like men?"

She considered the sensation of squeezing Alistair's external organ. "It was quite squishy," Tunie said. "But fun. Yes, I think I like men. Will you let me try again, Alistair?"

Alistair grabbed his plate of food and left the kitchen without another word. As soon as he was out of sight the others began to laugh again. Tunie, however, was perplexed by his reaction.

"He is so emotional," Tunie said. "I have some tea that will calm him."

"Perhaps it would be best if you keep your hands to yourself, Tunie," Sol said. "I think you frightened the lad."

Sol still had his reservations about Tunie. There was something odd about the woman and her magic. He did not fear or believe she was a threat, but rather he was convinced an unusual event had affected her thought process. Regardless, she was a breath of fresh air and a much needed relief to the misery they had suffered for the last three months.

Once the meal finished, Tunie excused herself from the table and headed for her cottage. She tried to avoid Fenris whenever possible. After her departure the others discussed the incident with Alistair and Tunie's amazing culinary skill. Donnic was wary of the mage and worried she would attract too much attention. He secretly wanted her to leave. They could not afford to be found by the templars. For now, he kept his opinion quiet.

"Merrill," Sol said. "What does Tunie do during the day? Is she casting in private?"

"Well... she does cast occasionally," Merrill said. "But usually it's frost and fire. Not a big spell. Please don't tell her I told you. She doesn't want to get in trouble and she's scared everyone hates her."

Sol dabbed his mouth with his napkin and placed it on his lap. Isabela scoffed at his manners. "No one hates her, except Fenris," he said. "We are simply curious. We know very little about Tunie, only that her father is Uther Pendragon. Does she talk about him much?"

"No," Merrill said. "She won't talk about him and if you ask her she gets really upset. It reminds of the time I found a baby halla in the woods. It had lost its mother. So sad."

"Back to my original question," Sol said. "What does she do in her cottage all day?"

"You haven't seen it?" Merrill asked. "Of course you haven't. What was I thinking?"

"Seen what?" Anders asked. "If she's collecting phallic instruments of death I'm out of here."

"Don't be silly," Merrill said. "Tunie wouldn't do that. She'd just kill you in your sleep."

Ander's eyes widened. "Well that's reassuring," he said. "So what's in her cottage?"

"The most amazing drawings and things," Merrill said with a dreamy smile. "They move and there is a box that plays a tune and a doll that dances. It's all very beautiful."

"I suddenly have the urge to go visit Tunie," Anders said and he chuckled. "Now there's something I never thought I'd say."

Since leaving the Circle one of the greatest discoveries Sol had made was privacy. He was no longer watched all hours of the day and he could come and go as he pleased. So the thought of invading Tunie's privacy to satiate their curiosity angered Sol. It reminded him too much of the templars and their meddling ways. He would not inflict the same uncomfortable scrutiny upon another without cause.

"No," Sol said. The adamant tone of his voice shocked Isabela. After a month of aggravating him, she had found that Sol was difficult to annoy. "It is not right to invade her privacy. We should ask before showing up on her doorstep."

"You're such a spoilsport, Sol," Isabela said, but she understood his reasoning. It wasn't something she was going to share with others. "So let's go ask her and then snoop."

Merrill picked at her fingernail like a child caught being naughty. "I will ask her," she whispered. "She trusts me."

"Make it clear that we wish to do nothing more than to see these... things of hers," Sol said. "It is intriguing but I will not have her frightened or feel invaded because we are nosey."

The Dalish elf smiled. She appreciated that Sol was trying to be diplomatic. "I don't think she will mind," Merrill said. "She is always happy to share except with Fenris. She doesn't like Fenris. His aura is blue and that is bad... or is it pink?"

"Right," Anders said. "Go ask then. Let's see what sort of trouble she is up to."

"It will have to wait until she is finished with the washing," Merrill said. "She doesn't want to be disturbed while cleansing the clothes of toxins."

Donnic sighed. "Fine. But as soon as she is finished we are going to inspect her cottage."

"I thought we were going to ask first," Sol said. He didn't like the authoritative tone in Donnic's voice. It made him uneasy. "She does have a right to her privacy."

"We know very little about this mage," Donnic said. "I would not normally suggest we invade a person's privacy but these are hardly normal circumstances."

Sol straightened his back and directed a stern gaze at Donnic. "And where will it end?" he asked. "Will you search Alistair next, or me?"

"Of course not," Donnic waved the comment away. "She is the only one who has given me pause to question her motives."

"She has been among us for a month now and done nothing suspicious," Sol said. "I admit she is... eccentric, but that alone does not warrant searching through her belongings."

Tunie was not his favorite person but Anders understood what it was like to feel violated and oppressed. He would not have Tunie suffer the same. "I hate to say it, but I agree," Anders said. "She's crazy and annoying but hardly a threat."

"Have any of you considered that she may be working for the Tevinter mages or perhaps even Meredith?" Donnic said. "We are dealing with an unknown."

Isabela rolled her eyes. "You need sex, Donnic. You're far too uptight."

"I'll take that under advisement," Donnic said and he gave her a droll look.

Donnic did make a fair argument, though Sol hated to admit it. If they were living under a different set of circumstances they could be less guarded, but they did not have that luxury.

"I see your point, Donnic" Sol said to Ander's annoyance. "I will visit, make some excuse to enter her cottage and inspect it. It will seem less suspicious that way."

"I guess that will do," Donnic said. "I would prefer to be the one to enter but I have confidence in your judgment."

"Merrill," Sol said. "You are not to tell Tunie that I am going to visit. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, I won't say anything. I'll just go see if she is done with the washing. It won't take long."

Merrill felt like a traitor. Tunie was her friend, actually she considered her family. Among the Dalish, Merrill had been shunned and had always felt alone but Tunie accepted her without question. It felt wrong to say nothing of Sol's intentions. She decided to ask Alistair for advice.


	43. Chapter 43: Cupcake Interlude

Hello! Yay, a chapter before the New Year. I spent ages on this and I'm thrilled I managed to finish it before Christmas because I think (well I hope) it will give the reader the warm and fuzzies. Alcohol works better of course ;)

Thanks to everyone for your continued reading, reviews and support. I wish all of you who celebrate Christmas a happy holiday. I'd send a gift wrapped Fenris to put under your tree if it were possible, but, alas the elf won't cooperate. Oh well... there's always pictures ;)

**Chapter 43: Cupcake Interlude**

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><p>Fenris entered Donnic's room in search of Marian's chest from Kirkwall. There had been little opportunity to inspect the chest before their trip to Orlais. He believed it contained clothing, jewelry, money and spell books. What he found was unexpected.<p>

Inside, a set of armor made from an unknown material lay neatly folded. It was black, interwoven with silverite chain that shimmered oddly in the light. The breast was accentuated with silver thread and enchanted with expensive runes. Fenris realized it was for him; a warrior's armor of the finest make. The interior padding was as soft as a feather down pillow but rugged and impenetrable. This armor was tailored to his shape, the metal protection hidden underneath, so that style was not sacrificed in the name of practicality. There was also a hint of roguish charm that reeked of Marian's sexual imagination. Fenris could not deny that he loved it. He was eager to know if the fit was as impeccable as the design.

He removed the armor from the chest. Underneath he found a plain, leather-bound book. It was Marian's diary. Until now, he was not aware that she kept one.

Fenris was an honest man, blunt to the point of painful. If he opened Marian's diary it would mean betraying the woman he loved. Inside were her innermost thoughts and secrets, but Fenris could not resist. He wanted one glimpse, a morsel of insight that he could not obtain under normal circumstances. He flipped through the pages until he espied his name.

_Today, Fenris and I walked through Hightown to the viscount's garden. I wish you were here Bethany. You would have loved to hear the noble's gossip. Maker they are so self righteous. 'The peculiar elf and the champion.' Do you know how many times I have heard those words whispered behind my back? _

_This stroll has become a ritual. The garden is the one place you can find peace in Kirkwall. The rest of the city seems to be perched on the edge of the Void. Oh I hear you scoff, dear sister, but there is a strange undercurrent here. It reminds me of that old farmer Jenkins. He never said a word, but his look would chill the flesh right to the bone. _

_The oddest thought occurred to me while Fenris and I walked. As we strolled along hand-in-hand, I thought of children. I envisioned a brood of puppy dog-eyed babies with a bad temperament and penchant for irritating their mother. I helped raise you and Carver. It was no easy task. Of course, it was rewarding but the responsibility was overwhelming at times, especially for a young girl. I know! Being a peasant was hard. Who knew? But I would not trade those memories for anything. _

_It's a stupid notion considering the life I lead. Fenris and I have only recently reconciled. There has been the odd moment when I have been tempted to forego the brew that keeps me barren. I do want a baby but I would never try and conceive without his consent. I have been so happy since we renewed our relationship. Why can't I be content with what I have? Why must I always want more?_

_I end here, dear Bethany. Maker willing, you can hear my thoughts or peek over my shoulder and read them._

_All my love,_

_Marian._

Fenris closed the diary. The revelation that Marian wanted children was impossible for him to comprehend, but worse, was the guilt he now felt after reading the diary. Marian wrote to her dead sister as if they were exchanging letters. The pain of losing her family had left a gap in her life, one that she had sought to fill with her close friends. But Fenris was aware that nothing could heal the deep wounds inflicted by their loss. This was a foreign concept to a man who could not remember his own family. How he envied and pitied her at the same time.

_Children? _Fenris contemplated_. Would she really want children with me? Does she grasp what that would mean for us... for them?_

Of course she did. Marian was practical, intelligent and above all, aware. Their relationship was ridiculed by the nobles and common populace. Yet, she wanted to bear his children regardless of the consequences. What a remarkable gift to see in words what she truly believed. A woman like Marian did not make that decision on a whim. She was too practical to settle for less. The notion filled Fenris with pride and apprehension. He placed the diary back into the chest and locked it.

In the middle of the afternoon, Fenris came to Marian with a picnic basket in one hand and a blanket in the other. The look of skepticism on her face made him smile.

"You are coming with me," Fenris stated. "There is an old oak tree in the meadow that demands your company. He was insistent."

Marian smiled. A playful Fenris was a rarity and hard to ignore. "Is that so? And how do you propose to eject my rump from the comfort of this bed?"

He lifted a bottle of red wine from the basket for her to see. It was aged with a blend of grape varieties that she loved. "You tempter," Marian said and she pouted at the wine bottle. "Fenris... I do not think I am ready to face the others. They are my friends but I still fear their scrutiny."

"You will not be seen," Fenris offered Marian his hand. He would not allow her to wallow in self pity. Not today. "I promise no one will disturb us. Besides..." His smile widened. "There are cupcakes in this basket."

_Cupcakes? Oh he is a devil. I know he is trying to coax me out of my shell. Who can blame him? Fenris has been extremely patient and caring. I dare not deny him this or maybe he will take Isabela up on her offer of a night of naked glistening flesh. _

Marian raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Cupcakes? Are they frosted with chocolate icing?"

"Yes..." he said and the half-smile, the one that he used to seduce her many years ago tugged at his lips. He was a professional when it came to making a woman's knees quiver. A single look and she wanted to bed him. "Only the finest for my Marian."

It was a frightening prospect to leave the confines of the bedroom. But Marian had to ask: _am I really this shallow?_ _Maker, Fenris does not find me repulsive. Why must I place so much importance on beauty? Mother's scrutiny and obsession with primness played a part in this insecurity but should_ _I allow it to dictate my life? Obviously, I am not the norm when it comes to the pompous asses of Hightown. _ _Mother considered Fenris a passing infatuation, a tryst until I accepted my station and married accordingly. But she should have recognized it for what it was: love. I know she wanted the best for me and a new life away from hardship. But that was her fantasy. Reality was a woman who killed for a living and settled dirty disputes for coin. So why do I care what she thinks now?_

"How can you be so sure our friends will not approach us?" Marian questioned. The thought of being subjected to uncomfortable small talk and glances was not something she was ready to endure.

Fenris understood her fear. The day after his markings were created he dreaded being seen by others. To his horror, Danarius placed a collar around his neck and paraded him in front of a group of magisters. It was an extreme experience, but he believed Marian suffered from the same fear of ridicule. People would see her differences before they appreciated her as a person.

"I requested that we were not to be disturbed," Fenris assured her in a gentle but firm tone. "Few refuse my requests."

"Request, since when do you request?" Marian grinned. "You have always been a demanding sort of man."

Fenris bowed at the waist. "Today, Marian, I humbly requested of your peculiar friends that they give us privacy. Now, will you come with me?"

This behavior was irregular. Fenris was soft spoken; the rough edges of his personality were smoothed out, and replaced with placidity. The spiky angry porcupine had turned into a fluffy cloud before her very eyes.

Marian rose from the bed. She grabbed a light airy dress from the wardrobe and changed in front of Fenris. He noted the curvaceous outline of her body and the flirtatious pertness of her breasts. Beyond those charming attributes, he admired that she trusted his words, trusted him. He should not have read her diary, but maybe, he considered, deceit, if nurtured to goodness was sometimes necessary in order to make a person happy. Was it really deceit or a truth that needed to be told? That was a matter for philosophers. An ex Tevinter slave did not have the patience to debate the idiosyncrasies of life.

"So where is this oak tree?" Marian gazed past the garden out to the fields. He pointed to a tree in the distance. "And why has he requested my presence? Has he lost an acorn? Am I to retrieve it for him?"

Her hand slid into the bend of Fenris's arm where it happily rested against his bicep. When in his company Marian felt more feminine. Fenris's voice, smoldering stares, his muscular body, the sword he wielded in battle and his eloquent demeanor were the epitome of masculinity. The same could be said of other men, but Fenris did it with style.

Marian was escorted from the cottage into the garden. The first step was wonderful. Flowers danced around her bare feet in the breeze and the sun warmed her skin. To Fenris's delight she smiled.

"The tree is this way," he whispered and he led Marian to the open fields. This was her first real view of the property. For some inexplicable reason it reminded her of Lothering on a warm summer's day. "Do you approve?"

"Why do you need my approval? I did not ask for yours after I bought my estate," Marian teased. "If you must know I think it is lovely and very unlike you. There is no dark cloud swirling over its rooftop and the flowers are far too cheery. Have you considered planting thistles?"

The objectionable snort that followed caused Marian to giggle. She was aware that Fenris placed major importance on the house. For him it was a symbolic representation of his hard won freedom and he was proud of his achievement.

"Has it lived up to your expectations?" Marian asked. If she teased too much she knew he would mistake it for ridicule. A deep and meaningful conversation with Fenris was a balancing act. Questions had to be direct and sincere but asked with respect.

"It exceeded them." He pointed to several overgrown grapevines. "It has been uninhabited for some time. I suppose the De Launcets lost interest in the wine making business."

"Perhaps they should have reconsidered and tried to make it a viable. They have incurred a multitude of debts according to Donnic." Marian reached down and picked a daisy. She started pulling the petals off one by one. "He loves me." She smirked up at Fenris. "He loves me not."

Fenris grabbed the daisy and threw it to the ground. "You do not need to pull the petals from a flower to receive an answer to that question. He loves you."

"Who said I was speaking of you?" Marian snickered when he huffed. The cool grass beneath her feet was invigorating and she felt a semblance of her light-hearted humor return. "Maybe I found a suitor while I lingered in the Fade."

She bumped her thigh against his in an effort to aggravate Fenris further.

"This suitor of yours... Does he take you on picnics and gift you with cupcakes?" Before Marian could answer Fenris added: "You must know by now that I am the perfect man."

"Yes, you are the perfect man complete with broodiness, a bad temper and large puppy eyes. How could I want for more?"

"So, you are set on being an antagonistic shrew today?" The grand oak tree stood before them; a tree of significant age and hardiness. Fenris laid the blanket for the picnic on the ground. When Marian offered to take the basket, Fenris swiftly moved it away. "Sit and I will see to the rest."

"You are so pushy, Fenris. Is the Orlesian air making you cocky?" Marian ignored the roll of his eyes and lay down on the blanket. She stared up into the canopy of the old oak tree and watched as the leaves quivered in light breeze. Fenris unpacked the picnic and uncorked the wine. "Are you going to give me a glass or must I beg?"

"Begging would be nice," Fenris chuckled. His voice lowered. "You did so last night."

Marian sighed. She propped her head up on one elbow. "Denying a woman her release again and again until she begs is just rude Fenris! Where's your humanity?"

"I suspect it resides with my compassion." Fenris handed Marian a wineglass. "But I am nothing if not charitable."

Marian stared at Fenris over the rim of her wine glass as she sipped. There was something odd about him today; tenderness in his eyes and face that she had rarely seen in years past. Today, it was easy to see through his defenses.

Lunch consisted of fruit, cheese, bread and ham. Marian had noticed Fenris's growing love of ham. It was nice to see him branching out, away from sweets. The wild boar in the nearby forest may not be pleased, but it was a nice change from honey. _I wonder when he will figure out that there is such a thing as honey-glazed ham? Maker save me from his sweet tooth._

They ate in relative silence. Several times Marian considered striking up a conversation but Fenris avoided eye contact and fidgeted while he ate. It was annoying.

"Would you care for a cupcake?" Fenris reached into the basket and retrieved one.

Marian heard the waver in his voice and found it odd. _He can't be drunk. It takes more than half a bottle to undo that man. Maybe he is not feeling well. I would touch his forehead to see if he is warm, but he hates it when I do that. He's such a child at times. Men._

"Sure," she said. The color had drained from his face. After she finished her cupcake, Marian would demand they return to the cottage and seek out Sol. She was convinced he was ill. "I had hoped we would start with the cupcake and eat lunch backwards," she teased. He said nothing. The silence was uncomfortable. _No banter? What is wrong with him?_

Marian decided she would try and seduce him by licking the cupcake in a provocative manner. If that did not get a reaction then they would leave immediately. When her tongue reached out for the frosting she experienced a peculiar sensation. At the top of the cupcake sat a silver diamond ring. She smiled at the ridiculous sight of it.

"Marian will you be my wife?" The words tumbled out like an ineloquent ball of nervous syllables before Fenris could find his confidence. "Will you marry me?" he asked again in a manly, more practiced way.

"Of course," she answered softly. Her voice was choked by emotion and her eyes had begun to water. "Come here."

Fenris leaned over and their lips embraced. During the affection, his hand accidently squished the cupcake. Marian giggled at the sight of the chocolate frosting between his fingers.

"Why is nothing ever simple?" he grumbled.

Marian raised his hand to her mouth and began licking the frosting from his fingers. "I bet you are glad that is over."

"I have faced many deadly enemies in my time but they all paled in comparison to this experience." She nibbled his finger and Fenris pulled his hand away. "I admit I was uncertain if you would say yes."

"How could I say no to such a romantic gesture? Every woman dreams of having her engagement ring shoved into a piece of confectionary."

Fenris tried to grab the ring from Marian. "I have changed my mind." She waggled her finger and held it out of his reach. "Give it back, wench."

The ring symbolized their love, the agonizing work it had taken to solidify their relationship and their shared hardships. If necessary she would fight all of Thedas to keep it. "You are not getting this back. It wouldn't look right on your finger anyway."

Fenris raised her hand to his lips and laid a dainty kiss on her palm. "May I place the ring on your finger?" he asked. The words made every girly nerve in Marian's body squeal with delight. "I wish to see you wearing it."

_It is beautiful. _Marian admired the play of light on the diamond._ Maker, how did he get the money to pay for it? It would have taken him a year or more... wait._

"Fenris..."

"Yes?"

"How long did you save to buy this ring?"

"I will not answer your question."

"Why?"

Fenris grabbed the ring and wiped the frosting away. "Would it make the occasion more meaningful if I were to reveal the details?" He lifted Marian's ring finger and pushed it gently over her knuckle. The ring was too big. "Never simple," he muttered.

_What do I do? _Marian wondered_. I don't want this moment to be spoiled._ Fenris's pointy ears provided the inspiration needed to solve her problem.

"Elves wear their wedding rings on their index finger. Correct?" Marian rotated the ring around her finger. It would fall off if she were to let go.

"Yes," Fenris said. He raised a speculative eyebrow. "But you are not an elf."

"I am marrying one so why should my tradition be more important than yours?"

"You have a point, but as you know I hardly place importance on elven traditions."

Marian slid the ring off of her finger and placed it on her index finger. It fit perfectly. "There." She lifted her hand up and examined it. "It was meant to be."

Fenris eyed the ring. He secretly enjoyed that she was willing to break human custom for him. "Are you certain you wish to wear it according to Elven tradition? I can have it resized."

She kissed him softly on the lips. "I am certain, unless you are adamant that it is changed."

"I am only adamant that you become my wife," Fenris whispered. "The rest is unimportant."

"Fenris... why do you want to marry?" She raised a finger to stop his inevitable argument from being voiced. "Mages are prone to unusual relationships at best but marriage is not usually an option."

He sipped his wine and considered her words. The Chantry did frown upon a union with a mage. Sebastian however had already procured the permits needed for the marriage and had done so without objection from the Grand Cleric. Marian, apparently, was not classed with others of her kind thanks to her popularity in Kirkwall. Cleaning up important people's messes came with perks he supposed.

"I walked away from you three years ago because I was a coward. I was convinced I could never be more than what Danarius made me." He stroked her cheek and cupped it. "But you allowed me to remain at your side and eventually forgave me. I did not deserve it. Now I pledge myself to you and no other, to show the strength of my loyalty."

Marian rubbed her cheek against his hand and then kissed the palm. "So… does that mean before you proposed that you were pledging yourself behind my back?"

"You do know how to ruin a moment," Fenris said and he shook his head. Battling the world with questionable wit had been Marian's way since the day they met. Fenris found it both annoying and useful. "I love you Marian, but if this not what you truly want then you can wear the ring and be reminded of what I have said today."

"Ha!" Marian threw back her head and laughed. "You think I am letting you off the hook that easily? This was my plan all along_." I suppose will never have to worry that Fenris may call me the old ball and chain. I can't imagine an ex slave would find that imagery pleasant. _

"So it is settled?" Fenris asked. It always amused Marian how he was prone to making even the most sentimental moments sound like a business deal. Brooding was an art form. "When do you wish to do this?"

"You do realize we will not be able to marry until the situation in Kirkwall is resolved. Templars tend to hang around the Chantry."

"Templars will not stop me. I will make an honest woman out of you, Marian Hawke," Fenris brushed his hand through her hair and admired her rosy cheeks and the miniscule freckles dotted over her nose. They only appeared when she was outside.

"You are such a romantic." Marian said and she quirked a mischievous eyebrow at Fenris. "You used a cupcake to propose to me. Was that your idea? I would have expected something more direct from you."

"You give me no credit, Marian," Fenris said and he shrugged. "To be honest I was unaware how I should propose. Aveline suggested that I prove I am worthy to be your suitor."

"Is that why you bought this house?" Marian was amazed Fenris would seek out the opinion of a woman who was a failure when it came to understanding the basics of a romantic relationship. "You listened to Aveline? Maker's breath why would you do something that daft?"

"Does it offend you that I wish to show you that I am able to provide more than my sword?" Fenris said. "Do not think I have forgotten that you are a lady. It is my understanding that in Fereldan a man must own property before the father will be willing to consider him a potential suitor."

Marian giggled. "It also helps if you want to marry someone your parents have decided is a perfect match. Now there is a terrifying thought."

"You would not have considered your parent's opinions concerning a suitor?" Fenris asked. "Surely they held some sway over you. You have always talked so highly of them."

"I pick and choose what I value," Marian said and he could hear the confidence in her voice. "Why should I try and live up to someone else's standards? Besides, they were hardly traditional. My father, the mage and my mother the noblewoman were off having secret rendezvous in dark corners, a la Marian."

"You make a fine point," Fenris said. He cringed at the imagery of Leandra Hawke being anything other than an older woman waiting on grandchildren. "I suppose I should be grateful for your open mindedness. We would not be together otherwise."

"Yes you should," Marian said. She pulled the top of her dress down and laughed as his eyes widened. "And my great breasts."

Fenris smiled openly at his bride-to-be. This was a moment of contentment for him. He knew it would not last with the coming of the magisters and the inevitable confrontation they would face with Meredith. But, today, while the sun sat high in the sky and a gentle breeze blew his lover's skirt above her knees, he would enjoy it and commit it to one of his few pleasant memories.


	44. Chapter 44: Amelia

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season! It has been busy on this end. I apologize profusely for my late replies. I should be flayed.

A big thank you for all the favorites and reviews! It is much appreciated :D

We are about 7 to 8 chapters from the end. Three of those chapters are written but not edited. I'm trying to condense more of my ideas into each chapter so this story can be finished before I hit retirement ;) Thank you once again for reading! And we have action Eko :D

**Chapter 44: Amelia**

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><p>The small Orlesian cottage rumbled in the aftermath of a discharged spell. Marian leapt from the bed and ran to her window. Outside she could see the last vestiges of a fireball heading towards the cottage. It reminded her of the time she had been unlucky enough to step in the path of a high dragon's assault. A wall of ice rose up from the hands of Sol and when it combined with the fire a loud splash hit the roof above. Marian grabbed her robe in case she needed to investigate.<p>

"What was that?" Sol shouted. He shook his staff at Tunie. Marian could now picture Sol in his old age, back bent, yelling at unruly young mages. "I said make a small flame erupt from your stave not shoot a fireball the size of Orlais at the ground, Tunie!"

The force of the spell had thrown Tunie and Sol a great distance from the original casting spot. Marian's eyes widened at the size of the crater left behind. They were lucky to be alive.

"It's not my fault!" Tunie shouted. "It's this deplorable staff you gave me to use. Why can't I use my old one?"

Sol dusted the dirt from his robe and face. He heaved a heavy sigh at the mage. "Your staff is far too powerful. If we had been using it we would both be a pile of ashes on the ground."

"At least that would be more interesting than listening to you prattle on about boring magey things like restraint and... concentration. Why can't I just shoot things?"

Marian chuckled. The conversation between Sol and Tunie reminded her of many she had with her father when she was young. She wanted to create snowballs and throw them at Carver's head, but he insisted she learn the basics before casting a single spell. Back then, she hated her father for his pickiness and lack of fun. But now, especially after watching Tunie, those lessons were the ones she most appreciated.

Fenris cleared his throat. He had purposefully failed to announce his presence, opting instead to observe Marian. "What is happening outside?"

"Something extremely painful to watch," Marian said. Fenris adored the little laugh that followed her statement. It was girly and unlike Marian. "When did Sol and Anders start training mages?"

Fenris threw the curtain back. His eyes narrowed on the frizzy-hared woman. "I told that mage to leave," he said. "We know nothing of her origins or her true intent."

"Trust me," Marian rubbed his shoulder hoping to soothe the savage beast within. "That mage is not faking her ineptness."

The expectant huff followed her statement. She grinned at Fenris's overreaction. "Until I am certain she is not a threat I want her to stay away from the house and from you."

"You're so overprotective these days." Marian's finger skated over his bicep while she smiled appreciatively at his body. "I think I like it."

Fenris wrapped his arms around her waist. He began to nibble on her ear. "As long as I breathe, I swear no one is going to hurt you again."

"What if you hold your breath?" she teased.

He smacked her on the ass. "I see that your sense of humor is returning. Wonderful."

"Oh you missed it just admit it," Marian said. She ran a hand through his scruffy hair. He recognized that look; she was going to insist on cutting it soon. "Besides, the world needs my questionable humor to balance out your broodiness."

Fenris nuzzled a boyish smirk into her neck. The shiver he felt ripple through Marian's body raised his sexual expectations. He hoped the flirting would lead to more adventurous places.

"Excuse me," a familiar voice said. Fenris sighed. Being the director of his own erotic eyelid movies would have to wait. He and Marian turned to see Alistair standing in the doorway. "The... uh door was open, but I can come back later if you want," Alistair said.

Marian instinctively wrapped her robe tighter around her body. Her nipples had hardened thanks to Fenris and his heated breath. "What did you need?" she asked in a light tone.

"I..." Alistair began to say and then he looked to Fenris. The elf did not appear pleased with his presence, but then again Fenris never looked pleased. Alistair held out his hands. Cradled between them were three large books. "I wanted to give you these."

Marian closed the distance and brought them into her arms. They were large leather-bound tomes covered in Arcanum script. "Spell books?"

"They were Solona's. I thought you might like them," Alistair said nervously. Fenris was giving his best death stare. "Those are her notes and the spells she collected along the way. Not really something I'd find useful but… well..."

Marian looked down at them and forced a smile. "That is very kind of you, Alistair. Unfortunately, I can no longer cast magic."

"I know." Alistair questioned whether this act of supposed generosity was more cruel than kind. "I thought maybe since you two were family that you might want them anyway. I don't really have anything else to offer except her diary and since she wrote very personal things about me, her and us, I'm not willing to give it away."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Marian said and she forced a thin smile through her melancholy. "I appreciate the sentiment, Alistair. It was very kind of you."

Alistair gave one last look at his dead lover's treasured books. It was time to move on. He knew this. Solona would want him to be happy. But even after six years he struggled to let her go. In many ways he still felt betrayed. He had been the elder warden and by tradition it was he who should have slain the archdemon. She was dead and he was alone and miserable. "You're welcome," he whispered. "I should be going now. I have to make certain Tunie doesn't catch the stable on fire... again."

"Idiot mage," Fenris muttered. "Why is she still here?"

Alistair stopped and when he turned to Marian and Fenris, they were shocked to see that he was angry. "You know, I don't understand you," he said to Fenris. "You're in love with a mage and yet you talk about them like they are dirt. Why would you do that?"

"Marian is a strong intelligent woman who has never succumbed to the false promises of a demon, unlike most mages I have seen. They are weak and eventually fall prey to temptation."

"So she's the one exception to your hatred?"

"She is one of the few exceptions I have seen." Fenris, without thinking looked at his markings. Alistair tried in vain not to follow his gaze. It was too late. Fenris had noticed his scrutiny. "I do not wish to argue. I respect you and I believe that Solona Amell proved to the world that she was a strong mage. But you must understand that I have come from a place where mages are corrupt and they think nothing of killing innocence to fuel their need for power."

Alistair straightened his back and his stance was defiant. "I know mages can become corrupt. But I've also seen mages do great things." He was not going to back down. Not after witnessing Solona's sacrifice. "Many mages died serving their country at Ostagar. A country that locks them away in a tower and even denies them the freedom to walk in the sunlight. Yet, they all fought to the death, to defend people who would happily see them locked away again. It's wrong."

Fenris crossed his arms and raised a speculative eyebrow. "It is my understanding that you were once a templar. Why would you defend them?"

"I never wanted to be a templar; I never wanted to be king. All I wanted was for the woman I loved to live. She was a person who happened to be a mage." Alistair pointed to Tunie. The mage was staring at the large crater she had created in the ground. Sol and Anders were making their way back to the cottage. They had given up. "There is a woman who needs help. She has feelings, dreams and a strange fetish for hay, but she is still a person. You want to turn her away because of your hatred of magic without getting to know her first. What if we are the ones to keep her from hurting others? Doesn't that seem a little unfair to you?"

"Life is unfair," Fenris retorted.

Alistair threw his hands up in the air. "Don't I know it," he said with a shake of his head. "Solona told me once that the only way to make life tolerable is to be tolerant. But what would she know? She was just a mage, right?"

Marian laid her hand on Fenris's shoulder. Without intervention the argument would continue and perhaps escalate into more than harsh words. Alistair walked away and out of the room.

"I... should have been more tactful."

It was only in private that he would reveal his true feelings to Marian. "I understand why this is difficult for you. I always have."

"But surely you wish I was different?" Fenris asked. He secretly hoped she would say no otherwise he would question whether she truly understood his past life. That was a doubt he did not need after their recent ordeal with Burgamond. "You are a mage after all."

Marian stared at Tunie. "I was a mage," she corrected. "And you are wrong about me. I fell to temptation."

"I… don't understand." Fenris hesitated. The words were unexpected. "You used blood magic?"

"No, but what I did, what I have done to you and my friends is as deplorable." Marian's soft, pliable face hardened. "I lied, I murdered, all in the name of what I wanted. It is hardly different than blood magic."

"You chose poorly. In your position I may have done the same." Fenris admitted. "But Marian, the incident with Burgamond and Varania would have occurred whether you had confronted him or not. He wanted to provoke you."

A whimsical smile crept across her lips. "I admit I look great naked but I never thought Altan would resort to murder out of jealousy." As usual she tried to mask her pain with wit. The wrinkle of her brow gave away her true feelings. "He was a troubled man."

"You need to speak with your father," Fenris said to her surprise. "Does he still visit you in the Fade?"

"Yes," Marian said with piqued curiosity. "Are you worried he does not approve of our impending marriage? He has said that he is pleased for us."

Fenris moved to Marian's dressing table. Her engagement ring was swaddled in a small swatch of velvet. She had taken it off before her bath, adamant that it not come in contact with soap in case it tarnished. It was a misguided notion since it was not water that made silver tarnish, but Fenris appreciated the gesture all the same.

"Your father's disapproval would not stop me from asking for your hand in marriage," he said in a dark whisper. "Tell him he has three days to tell you or I will." It was spoken as a demand not a request and Marian began to feel the undercurrent of animosity. "Do this for me Marian."

Marian hated cryptic conversation. It especially troubled her that this was happening with a man who was always straight to the point. "I don't understand," she said. "Why so vague and why do I get the distinct impression that I'm not going to like what I hear?"

"You will not," Fenris answered, though it pained him to say the words. "My regret is that I have yet to reveal what he should have said by now. Then again, perhaps it was for the best to wait. Your recovery may have been hampered otherwise."

"Fenris…" she implored. A queer expression darkened her features. Marian did not take kindly to criticism where it concerned her father. "Tell me," she insisted. "I wish to know now before I face my father."

"No." And he was adamant. "He should be the one to tell you. I refuse to do this for him."

Three shouts from the garden startled Marian and Fenris. They had been too engrossed in their conversation to notice a very heated argument raging outside. Fenris instinctively moved in front of his fiancé and with a slight flick of his hand, he peeked from behind the curtain.

Alistair, Sol and Anders were shoulder-to-shoulder speaking to five men with raised voices. Whatever their disagreement it concerned Petunia.

"Stay here, Marian." Fenris donned his armor and grabbed his sword. "Do not attempt to help, and if they get the advantage run to the Chantry. Petunia claims the sister there is kind."

"What is going on?" Marian asked. She stepped in front of Fenris determined to waylay his path until given a satisfactory answer. "Who are those men? Are they templars?"

"I assume Petunia's father has finally found her," Fenris said. "There are two templars. If we are fortunate they will not have received word about the bounty on my head." He kissed Marian on the cheek. "Stay here."

Fenris stepped into the garden. Petunia was cowering behind Alistair begging him to not send her back to her father. The rest of his housemates had their hands on their weapons.

"You would keep the templars from their duty?" a man asked. Fenris assumed it was Uther Pendragon. The rich attire suited a man of affluence and gentry, much how Tunie had described him. "The Chantry will have you hung."

Alistair leaned over and whispered in Donnic's ear. "Those aren't templars."

"How can you be so certain?" he whispered back. "They are wearing the uniform."

"So…" he retorted in a long drawn out tone, like an objectionable child. "Orlesian dandies wear ruffled blouses and prance about like women. Does that mean they are?" Alistair asked. He pointed to the three robed men behind Uther. "Besides, it's not common practice to bring mages along to apprehend a maleficar. It's too risky."

Fenris stepped forward beyond his friends. He faced the men with avid disinterest. It was the same expression one would give a group of gnats swarming in circles. "Why do you trespass?" he asked. The five men did not hide their astonishment. They eyed him from head to naked toes. "This is my home and land. You would do well to leave."

"I have come to retrieve my daughter, elf." Uther spoke the word 'elf' as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth. "Not that it is any of your concern." He pointed a long bony finger at Alistair. "Now would you tell your friend to hand her over and we will be on our way."

Fenris found it strange that two templars would allow a common citizen to lead them in the capture of a dangerous mage. They tended to be more proactive "You came only for the mage?" he said. "There is nothing else that you would ask of me?"

"Only the girl," Uther answered. "Now if you please."

Thanks to his keen hearing, Fenris had overheard Alistair's statement to Donnic concerning the possibility that the templars were mercenaries in disguise. Since they were not eager to take him into their custody, he was convinced the warden's assumptions were correct.

"Petunia…" Fenris looked over his shoulder in the direction of the cowering woman. "Do you wish to go with your father?"

"No," Petunia said from behind Alistair. She hugged his leg tighter. "I want to stay here."

"I suggest you leave," Fenris said to Petunia's father. He was the last person she expected to defend her from Uther. "There is nothing for you here."

Uther rested his hands on his hips. The side glance to his men was a signal that the encounter was not going to end peacefully. "Why do you care if I take her?" Uther asked. "What is she to you?"

Regardless of how he felt about the mage, Fenris would not allow a man who sounded more like a tyrant than a father to take Petunia away. He could be another Danarius and that was not a risk he was willing to take. "I would question why a daughter would be terrified of her own father," Fenris answered. His words were stern and it was obvious he was not willing to back down. "You will not intimidate me as you do her. So leave."

Alistair smirked. He had underestimated Fenris. It was probably what most people did right before the elf's hand reached into their chests and tore out their hearts. Perhaps Fenris's harsh words concerning mages was a defensive reaction – not what he truly believed. Fenris's love for Marian proved that he was able to look past the magic and to the person. That was admirable for a man who had been subjected to extreme cruelty.

"We could settle this reasonably with coin," Uther said. The suggestion irked Fenris. He wanted to beat the man's smarmy face to a bloody pulp. "My daughter stole a large sum from me. It is yours if you step aside."

"Ouch," Alistair said and he cringed. "Wrong answer. Now the elf is going to get stroppy."

"You would pay me in exchange for your daughter's freedom?" Fenris spat at Uther's feet. "It is no wonder she runs from you."

"Then the templars will take her." Uther pointed to the men at his side. "As much as it pains me, it is their sacred duty to apprehend blood mages."

"Tunie a blood mage?" Alistair scoffed. "She is an awful mage, the most horrible mage that I've seen in my entire life and I've seen some bad ones."

Tunie peered up. "Thank you Alistair," she whispered. "You tell him."

"Did it ever occur to you that it is an act?" Uther asked. "She is using you for safe harbor against the templars. You are simply too foolish to accept that fact."

Anders pointed his staff at Uther and the templars. Justice was on the verge of seeking vengeance. "How can you do this to your own daughter? What if they are wrong? What if she isn't a blood mage? You will be sentencing an innocent woman to death."

Donnic stepped forward, ahead of Anders. If he was forced to attack these men it would be with a clear conscience and not because they were provoked by a possessed mage. "Let's see your orders. Even templars cannot apprehend maleficarum without a writ from the Knight-Commander."

"It seems you have managed to find some competent friends this time, dear daughter," Uther said. "If you come with me willingly I will not harm them."

Uther waved his hand and a group of fifteen men emerged from the trees. They were dressed in fine mercenary armor. Fenris unsheathed his sword. As far as he was concerned they should have been fighting five minutes ago.

"You're not templars, are you?" Alistair asked. "I thought the uniforms looked suspect."

"You figured that out all on your own?" Uther said. He clapped his hands together like one would for a toddler. "Well done."

"Yes, well someone is always needed to point out the obvious otherwise it just makes the criminal mastermind look dumb," Alistair grumbled.

The three mages in Uther's group had erected arcane shields over their bodies. Fenris recognized Uther's strategy. He would attack with his melee and ranged men first, and if he started to lose ground, the mages would be ordered to strike. It was a piss poor strategy as far as Fenris was concerned.

_Only three mages? _Fenris questioned_. Blood mages. That is where his true power lies._

Fenris watched as Petunia stepped from behind Alistair and agreed to go with Uther if he did not attack. It was an admirable gesture, but Fenris wasn't in a generous mood and he was aware Uther would attack regardless if she went or not.

Before Uther could accept, Fenris bolted forward to the nearest blood mage. He pushed his hand through the arcane shield and tore his heart from his chest. The remaining two blood mages backed away. What they had witnessed was supposedly impossible. Fenris eyed them in turn. His self-satisfied smirk silently promised they would be next.

"Merrill, Anders," Fenris ordered and pointed to the trees. "Pick off the archers and cover Alistair and Donnic. I will deal with the mages."

The two blood mages targeted Fenris. They were determined not to suffer the same fate as the dead mage lying face down on the ground next to his heart.

_Fenris is giving orders? Maker, I never thought I'd see the day. _Marian thought_. It was sexy and scary at the same time. _She could only watch the battle unfold. Fighting had been integral part of her life since she was young. To be forced to do nothing more than watch from behind a curtain was, in her mind, humiliating. She felt weak, useless, a woman dependant on the strength of her friends and lover. It was normalcy and she hated it.

While Marian silently whined about her life she noticed Petunia had fallen to the ground. At first she believed the mage had been struck by an arrow or sword. But when she rose unharmed Marian began to fear for the safety of the others. The last month could have been a ruse, a way for their safehouse to be penetrated by the templars from the inside. Would she now strike down Fenris? Panic clouded her thoughts. She was certain they had misplaced their trust in this stranger. But what could she do? Magic wasn't an option and she was not trained in the use of weaponry outside of her staff. One cleave by a strong swordsman and a staff would be nothing more than expensive kindling, and she a bloody mess on the ground. All of her friends were too entrenched in the fighting to notice Petunia standing tall and confident at their backs.

A shout went up from one of the blood mages. He had pointed to Petunia. Marian watched as Uther's face drained of color and the fear of death crept into his eyes.

Uther's mages cast mass paralysis, and to Marian's horror, her friends and Fenris were encompassed by it. But before a single man could strike, Petunia had covered Marian's people in an arcane shield. Uther's remaining men focused on the solitary woman standing in the rich green grass at the end of the garden.

"Now come, daughter," Uther said. His command was uncertain where it had once been insistent and confident. "Let us leave these people in peace like you wished and return home."

A peculiar smirk crept across Petunia's face. In the month they had spent together, Alistair had never seen the mage have a semblance of confidence.

Petunia's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Daughter?" she said in an amused tone. Uther took one step back. "You bastard, Morton. What did you do to me?"

"Morton?" Isabela poked her head out of the cottage window. She had been listening to the conversation from inside. "What kind of name is Morton?"

Sol chuckled quietly. Even in a dire situation Isabela managed to make him smile. "I am going to guess that Morton is in big trouble and not Petunia's father. And why are you still in the cottage, Isabela? You should be out here helping."

"I'm naked," Isabela said. She rolled her eyes at Sol. The pirate had wondered on many occasions why the paralysis spell worked only from the neck down. In her mind, it would be more effective if the victim couldn't speak. "I'll be out in a minute." The shutters to the bathroom window slammed closed.

Morton pointed at Petunia. "You brought this on yourself, Amelia. If you had not threatened me I would not have been forced to do this to you."

"Amelia," Alistair whispered. "Petunia is really named Amelia? Wow, she must be relieved."

Amelia's eyes latched onto Morton's. "You used blood magic to strip me of my identity. I have been on the run, hunted like an animal, all because you feel entitled? You are no better than the leftover cum in a whore's mouth!"

Alistair blushed. "You know, that has to be one of the grossest insults I have ever heard."

"I'm impressed," Isabela said. She had sashayed out into the garden still dripping wet from her bath. Sol admired the way her clothing stuck to her body. Until now he had believed it was impossible that anymore of Isabela could be revealed.

Morton's blood mage quickly cast paralysis around Isabela. She rolled her eyes in response. "Maybe I should have waited," Isabela said.

"You think?" Sol teased. "At least I will die with a good view of your breasts. I guess a man can't ask for much more than that considering the circumstances."

"Shut up," Morton yelled. He pointed a finger at Amelia. "You will come with me and continue your work."

"What?" Amelia yelled at Morton. Her cheeks had turned a raging red "Now you want to take the credit and the coin. Am I right?"

"Your father made me executor of his will and it states that you are to be turned over to my custody," Morton said and he took a step closer to Amelia. "If you do not comply the templars will act. They would rather see you dead than have your inventions sold to the highest bidder."

"Meaning the Imperium," Amelia said. "So… you are blackmailing the templars too, just like father did in order to keep them from taking me back to the tower. I stay locked away in the estate, labor night and day and you claim to be father's gifted apprentice turned master. Am I correct?"

"Of course," Morton said. "That was the arrangement with your father. Why should it change?"

After Morton's last statement, Amelia's eyes dropped to the ground. Alistair was convinced the words had struck a blow to her confidence. But as he watched her face ripple with an array of complex emotion, he saw the doubt fade and the resolution come forth.

"Fuck you, Morton," Amelia said.

"We can do that too," Morton answered. The man's lecherous stare angered Alistair. He worried what would happen if Amelia was forced to return Starkhaven. "I know you do not wish me to harm your friends. It is best if you leave now."

"No," Amelia stated. "I will not sit behind closed doors toiling for another man's ego. I deserve better than this. You will kill me or I you. Decide."

The anger swiftly overtook Morton and his features were twisted by his resentment and hate. "You're a mage and a woman. You were always destined to serve either a templar or a man. But if you will not serve me then I suppose it will be death." Morton turned to the nearest mage. "Retrieve the others. We will need them."

"But… she is one mage without a staff," the blood mage said. "Let's kill her now."

"She may look like nothing more than an imp but trust me when I say she is formidable," Morton pushed the mage. "Go get the others."

Ten heavily armored men poured forth from the forest. Amelia erected an arcane shield around her body, and when she did, the shields that had been protecting her friends dropped. They were now vulnerable to enemy attack.

"Uh… what about us Petunia… Amelia… Petulia?" Alistair asked. "I don't want blood stains on my armor. I just polished it."

Amelia smirked at Alistair. "You spend far too much time polishing," she said. "You have to trust me. I will reunite you with your cheese."

The arcane shield dropped from Amelia's body. She quickly clashed her mana against the remaining blood mage and killed him instantly. The spell that had paralyzed Fenris and the others faded and they were now free to offer their aid.

In the middle of the garden between friend and foe, Amelia created a golem from a pile of rock. Fenris ordered his people to take up a position behind the golem. He would not risk stone falling on their heads.

Every movement of the golem was controlled by Amelia, like a puppet on a string. When she would raise her arm so would the golem. Morton and his men retreated into the forest, hopeful the cover of trees would save them from Amelia's wrath. But she was quick and her golem hurled a boulder before they were firmly undercover. The majority of Morton's men were reduced to a pile of broken bones and blood, but he managed to escape. Fenris, his friends, Amelia and her golem began to search the outskirts of the forest for any sign of Morton. If he was not killed, Fenris was certain he would return with the templars.

Marian, who had been watching events unfold from the safety of her back door, crept along the garden to get a better view. She could see Fenris clearly, studying footprints to try and discern which direction Morton had fled. He pointed to a spot on the ground and Donnic came to investigate. Marian watched as they followed the trail to the front of the cottage. She decided Morton was headed to the nearby creek. He would be impossible to track through water. But then, Marian felt a hand wrap around her throat and she realized too late how reckless she had been by leaving the house.

Fenris and Donnic came barreling around the corner. They stopped as soon as they saw Morton and Marian.

"Let her go!" Fenris yelled. "If you want a hostage to secure your passage from this place, take me instead."

"No!" Amelia yelled. Her golem fell away at her feet. "You release her and I will go with you, Morton."

Morton smiled. "Aren't I a popular fellow? And I am supposed to trust you?" he asked. "You will run at the first opportunity, Amelia."

"I swear Morton I will do as you ask," Amelia pleaded. "Please, do not hurt her. She has done nothing to you."

Fenris noticed the dagger at Marian's back. If he attempted any assault she would be killed. Since the incident with Burgamond he had sworn to keep her out of harm's way. If she was murdered before his eyes, Fenris was certain he would not be able to bear to continue living.

"I don't believe you, Amelia" Morton said.

Marian looked to Fenris. They had been through many battles together over the years but not once had she needed his assistance to remain alive. Today, he would have to be her savior.

"Please, release her," Fenris pleaded. Even Anders was moved by the love in Fenris's words. "I will give you anything you ask, even my freedom."

Marian's eyes widened. As she watched Morton consider the offer, the anger began to well within. It surged through her fear and helplessness and gathered until she shook from the power of it. When she heard Morton accept Fenris's proposition and demand Amelia return as well, the anger broke through the barrier of shame and humiliation she had been harboring and brought forth her pride. With it came her magic.

A painful yell and a strange mind-numbing sensation stunned Fenris. When he dared to open his eyes he was surprised to see Morton lying on the ground, dazed.

Marian smiled an unsettling smile. "Thank you," she said to Morton. Then the heel of her foot slammed into his esophagus and crushed it. She watched happily as he held onto to the last vestiges of his life.

The sword dropped from Fenris's hands. He dashed to Marian's side, using the unnatural speed of his lyrium, and brought her into his arms for a hug.

"Are you hurt?" Fenris asked. The skin around her neck was bruised from Morton's clasp. He tilted her chin upwards to better see the damage. It appeared to be superficial. "Do you need healing?"

Marian pulled her head away and smirked at him. "I am fine." The giggle that followed did not please Fenris. She was going to say something inappropriate. "I have suffered worse bruises…"

Isbela raised a playful intrigued eyebrow at the statement. "I'll bet."

"Do not finish that sentence, Marian," Fenris threatened. He kissed her on the cheek. The air was charged with the remnants of Marian's magic. The release had been a stronger surge than usual, like a cork suddenly free from a champagne bottle. "Your magic has returned. Do you know why?"

"He did piss me off," Marian said. "You know how I get."

Fenris nodded as he thought about her once monthly mood swings. "Unfortunately."

Marian noticed her friends had gathered near. In their eyes she could see they were searching for the familiar face under the scar. Anders was the first to smile with genuine warmth. Marian, unable to resist his charm, smiled back and when she did, the rest of her friends returned the affection. Until that moment, she had not realized how much she had missed their company.

"I am so sorry," Amelia whispered to Marian and Fenris. The tears streaming down her face made it apparent that her apology was genuine. "If I had been aware, I would never have burdened you with my troubles."

"Don't worry about it," Isabela said before Marian could answer. "These things happen to Hawke all the time."

"It's true," Marian confirmed in a chirpy tone. "You cannot be initiated into the group unless I have almost died trying to save you. Besides, saving you was nothing compared to saving Isabela."

"Pffffft," Isabela said as she waved the comment away. "After what you've put me through these last months I'd say we are even."

Sol elbowed Isabela in the side. It was obvious to all present, except perhaps Merrill, that the comment upset Marian. She was studying the roof of the cottage, looking anywhere but at her friends. Guilt and shame, the realization of what she had done had weighed heavily upon her since she had awoken. Sol and Marian had yet to speak about the incident with the mirror. As far as he was concerned it was history, but he knew Marian would want closure.

Alistair broke the awkward silence by directing the attention back to Amelia. "So let me get this straight… your name isn't Petunia? Were you pretending to be an idiot or do you still act like Petunia? How does this work?"

Amelia grinned. Alistair had a way with words. "I was not pretending to be an idiot, as you so eloquently put it," she stated. The assertiveness caught Alistair by surprise. Petunia would have offered a long explanation that would leave people confused, but she was truly a different person. He was intimidated, intrigued and turned on by her forthrightness. "Morton and his blood mages were responsible for this entire mess."

"I have seen this before in Tevinter," Fenris said. "Danarius would use mind domination on his enemies to have them commit murders. They would be accused and executed while the real murderer remained free."

"Did Danarius ever perform a merciful act in his life?" Marian asked.

"Only when he killed his enemies quickly," Fenris answered. "That was not often."

"Forget I asked."

"All those inventions were yours then?" Sol asked Amelia. "Uther Pendragon invented nothing? But he is one of the most celebrated people in Thedas. His inventions have revolutionized everything from warfare to… well everything."

"My inventions," Amelia said. "Every single one was mine." Her entire life had been spent at the mercy of her father, hidden behind closed doors while he was regaled and pampered like a royal brat.

Isabela poked Sol's chest with her index finger. She laid a hand on one of her shapely hips. "You act as if he is the first man to take credit for a woman's work. He got his dick stroked and his coffers full. Sounds like the average man to me."

"Not every man is after instant gratification at the cost of someone else, Isabela," Sol said. He flicked her finger away. The offended expression that followed amused him. "But I am not naïve enough to think no man would take advantage of a woman."

_If the inventions are truly Amelia's then she has to be one of the greatest geniuses to every walk Thedas, _Sol considered. _And her magic… how does one create a golem from a pile of rock and use its natural abilities against a foe? She is a marvel._

"The golem. How did you? Are you a directional force mage?" Marian said to Amelia. "Father had spoken of that magic but he said it was rare. I never thought to meet someone who was able to wield it."

"It has been more of a curse than a blessing," Amelia answered. She had been waiting for the question. Even the Circle had a poor understanding of her magic ability. "Your father must be an exceptionally learned man. Few people have heard of it."

Merrill grabbed Amelia's arm, excited by the prospect of learning a rare magic. "Can you teach me?" she asked. "I think it would be quite useful to make a golem. Can you make other shapes too? Maybe a halla?"

Amelia smiled. "You're a blood mage, Merrill. You have enough power under your control without me mottling it up."

"So will you sleep with me now?" Isabela asked. Sol rubbed his eyes and pretended his shoe was more interesting than her wayward comment. "Or do you need to grab Alistair's crotch again?"

"Maker's breath," Alistair mumbled. Thankfully, he was certain that Amelia Pendragon, unlike Petunia, would never have committed such an act if she had been in her right mind. "What is wrong with you, Isabela?"

Amelia laughed. "Haven't you forgiven me yet, Alistair?"

"I have tried to forget," Alistair said. The curl of his lip amused Amelia. "Stop reminding me."

"What will you do now?" Anders asked. "We could use your help."

"I need some time to decide," Amelia answered. The fatigue from the battle had made her weary and the bombardment of questions was starting to try her patience. She felt smothered. "Are you willing to allow me to stay longer Fenris? I know I have already worn out my welcome but I could use a few days to gather my thoughts."

Fenris bowed his head in agreement. It was the first time anyone had asked him, not Marian, for his permission to remain. Up until now, her word had always carried more weight.

"You may," Fenris said.

Amelia bowed her head. "I am indebted."

"Well…" Isabela drawled. "I know how you can repay me."

"Do you think of anything else besides sex?" Amelia asked. There was humor in her voice to ensure Isabela understood it was not a serious question.

"Rum," Sol answered for Isabela. "Oh, and coin. Your average pirate really."

Isabela shrugged. "He's right."

"If it is all the same to everyone I would like to retire," Amelia tried to sound pleasant but her words were laced with a hint of aggravation. "It has been a very long and disappointing day. Please forgive me."

Marian and Fenris nodded and began to walk back to the cottage. Sol and Isabela had started to argue over the last piece of cake and Donnic was eyeing the pile of rocks left by Amelia's golem with contempt. He would have to transport them back to the stonewall.

Amelia began to walk away. After two steps she noticed Merrill was following her.

"Merrill…" Amelia said.

"Yes?"

"Why are you following me?"

"I thought you might like some company. It's not every day you become someone else."

"I am sorry but company is precisely what I do not want."

"Oh!" Merrill said with a mixture of hurt and surprise. "You're right. You should rest. How silly of me." She waited eagerly for Amelia to respond, but when she continued to walk Merrill added: "Right then. Maybe I'll see you later... at dinner or breakfast."

Amelia raised her hand and waved but never looked Merrill's way. Petunia Pendragon had been a carefree, bumbling mage, happy to engage in inane banter. But Amelia Pendragon was a genius without equal; a woman entrenched in reason and logic. And though she had a good sense of humor, she was not frivolous with her emotions. They were deep, concentrating on all aspects of life in order to form an educated opinion. This was the anti-Merrill thought process.

Most of all, Amelia detested blood magic. It was the reason she had been controlled her entire life, the reason why mages were feared by the average person, and the reason why innocent people died. As of now, she and Merrill were no longer friends.


	45. Chapter 45: Malcolm's Regret

Hello and welcome to another chapter of insanity. This is an important chapter as far as the plot goes. This chapter is heavily connected to Chapter 32: Talking to Ghosts. If you want Malcolm's personal explanation that is where you will find it. This is more of a summary of his escape. The names get a bit lengthy in this chapter.

Thank you for the reviews, alerts, favorites and lovely pm's and your continued support. I appreciate it, especially now that winter is getting the best of me. Long dark days bleh although… hmm it does conjure thoughts of Fenris, a fire and a blanket. Wonder if his toes get cold in the snow?

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><p><strong>Chapter 45: Malcolm's Regret<strong>

Absence was the only word she could think to describe it. There was no color or solidity of earth, no feeling or sound. Marian was wrapped in a dark expanse of nothing. She waited and before her the Fade shaped into a courtyard cloaked by a clear night sky. Malcolm Hawke stood in the midst of the courtyard, his body haloed by the light of a solitary lantern. The dim glow accentuated the shadows of his face rather than the warm color of his skin and his body was shapeless under the thick cloth of his black robes.

Now that she stood before him, Marian judged that his stance was not of a loving laid-back father, but that of a stranger. Fenris had been right; she was not going to like this.

"Father," Marian spoke. She studied their surroundings. Nothing but the courtyard existed. "Whatever happened to rainbows and unicorns? Why so bleak?"

A slight breeze ruffled Malcolm's robes. Beneath she could see his white long socks crisscrossed by thin black wraps; it was his martial clothing. "How are you coping, Marian?"

"I am faring better." Marian was perplexed by the change of subject. It was unlike her father to avoid a direct question. "It may be that I have a very unusual mage and a life threatening situation to thank for the return of my magic. Fenris would say it is typical. I am apparently a troublemaker."

Malcolm smirked. After a lifetime of observing Marian he agreed with Fenris's assessment. In her youth she had found new and interesting ways to attract unwanted attention. The problems increased in severity and complication as she aged. She was headstrong and sure, just as he had intended, but her generosity was forgotten once people realized she was a mage.

"I sensed your power as you entered the Fade."

Marian wiggled the two fingers that were missing in the waking world. "Without the ability to use my staff I have been stripped of my full power." Her hand dropped to her side. "At least I can mind blast any bastard who tries to kill me again."

"You know as well as I that a staff is not needed to cast or to use martial skill."

"It helps."

"So does a stiff drink, but unfortunately I have yet to determine how to pour one during a fight," Malcolm teased and his smile broadened. "You only need to change your fighting style, Marian. The skill remains."

Marian conjured a chair and sat. "You are more confident than I," she replied. "Why couldn't it have been my two small toes? Who needs them except Fenris and Merrill?"

"Consider Saarebas. The Quanari mages are formidable opponents without the aid of a staff. Remember: a mage is born of the mind not of the hand. I believe your new acquaintance will be able to instruct you in swift magical combat." Malcolm smiled with reassurance. He laid his hand upon her shoulder and squeezed. "You will find a way. You always do."

Marian studied him and she could see that he was troubled by something deeper than their current conversation. The setting itself was a clear sign that he intended to do more than exchange pleasantries. It was odd and she wanted answers.

"I came here, father, because Fenris said that you owe me an explanation about the incident with Burgamond. He was adamant."

This was the moment Malcolm had dreaded. To deliver life changing news to a child was never pleasant. "What I have to tell you will not be welcomed, of that I am certain, but it must be said."

"Bad news I take it? I was an orphan raised by goats? Mother took pity on me after I tried to chew the hem of her skirt? Why all the hesitation and grimness? This is starting to sound like the beginning of one of Carver's terrible ghost stories."

Malcolm ran his hands down his face like melted butter. He had to believe that his daughter was strong enough to cope. She had friends and a lover who was supportive and loyal. They could weather through this together. "This was not a decision I made lightly, Marian, but if I say nothing you are sure to die. That is why I offered an immediate explanation to Fenris. Mind you, it was not wholly truthful but if I had divulged more he would have ignored or attacked me."

There was a time when Marian would never have questioned her father's wisdom. But with the recent events, the marring of her body and the emotional trauma she was uncertain why he would choose now to burden her with more worries. It was cruel in her mind.

"Maybe it should wait, father." Marian's head bowed just as it had done when she was a child. The sight tore at Malcolm's emotions. He could remember scooping her up into his arms after she suffered a scraped knee and kissing the tears away. This conversation, he was certain, would irrevocably damage their relationship. "I am in no position to deal with more problems. I have plenty."

"You will never be in a position to deal adequately with what I must say." Malcolm answered. He did not have the luxury to procrastinate further. "Our family has always been burdened by hardship and you, the eldest, know this better than anyone."

Marian became resigned to the fact that her father was not going to relent, that he would put necessity above nicety. "Then tell me."

"The amulet…" her father began and the words made her cringe. "It is not simply by chance that Burgamond chose you as his blood victim."

"I already know Meredith wanted to clear the path for Burgamond to become viscount."

Malcolm began to pace in front of Marian's chair. He watched his feet as he walked instead of focusing on her face. Each word had to be chosen carefully. The magisters were using every tool at their disposal to search for Marian. Even dreamers had been employed to trawl the Fade for her presence. So far he had managed to block their way.

"That may have been Meredith's intention, but Burgamond and the magisters involved had another plan." Malcolm leaned over and laid his hand on Marian's cheek. "You do not know how this pains me. Please remember that I do this out of love for you, Marian. It will be my one selfless act before I lose your respect and possibly your love."

Marian squeezed his hand and smiled. "Father that will not happen," she said with a face full of admiration. "Tell me and we will work through this together."

His hand fell limply to his side. The look reminded Marian of her mother as she lay dying in her arms: it was a goodbye.

Malcolm began to circle his daughter. "You once asked of my origins and why I never spoke of my past. Do you remember?"

Marian nodded. "You never bothered to tell mother so why would you tell me?"

"Fear, loathing, selfishness, hate." he huffed at his own words. "I never deserved your mother and especially not the children she bore."

The conversation was beginning to feel like an inquisition rather than a chat. Marian was unsure what to make of her father's stiff voice. There was the sense that his anger was nearing the surface. "I'm not going to like this am I?"

"No." Malcolm's stern answer left no room for doubt. "You are going to hate me after what I have to say and no one would blame you. But know this: you will need my help in the weeks to come in order to survive."

"Wonderful," Marian said and added a roll of her eyes for flair. "And here I thought we were going to sit, have some tea and reminisce about the good old days of using templar cutouts for target practice."

Malcolm could not restrain his laughter. "I see you inherited my questionable wit." But through the joviality, Marian noticed the pain in his eyes and she watched as his relaxed posture stiffened to the rigidity of stone; he was on the defensive.

"You once said to me that you cannot protect us from the world but you can prepare us for it." She tried to reason. "So why did you withhold this... whatever it is? Surely, it would have been best to be out with it and then we could have suffered through it as a family."

"Whatever wisdom I possess has always been laced with a selfish need to get what I want. The ability to manipulate others was one defect I never managed to rectify from my former life."

Manipulate others? That did not sound like her father. He was kind and giving. "Father, if this is about being forced to run from the templars, then you need not worry. Mother, Bethany and I understood, and Carver to a degree. You protected us."

With each passing word he debated whether he should stop. Her understanding was more than he deserved. "Lothering was an uncomplicated piece of my life. The rest is…. unfortunate."

"Father tell me what it is. I will try and listen without being judgmental."

"No, I will show you."

Paintings of an ancient land few had been privileged to look upon unfolded before Marian. In the midst of each painting was a city, Arlathan, the ancient home of the elves.

"In the time of Arlathan…" Malcolm began to explain. It made Marian feel as if she were ten again. "It is said that all elves were gifted with magic. Many believe this to be a legend told by their parents at bedtime, but there are those in Tevinter who have annals that date back to this age. The elves did not view magic as we do. They believed it to be a gift from their gods, a small remnant of their divines' powers. During their peaceful reign they created magnificent objects all of which held magical properties."

"Father, this is common knowledge except the part about the Tevinter annals. The Elvhen were immortal, men were not and the elves feared them," she said impatiently. "What does this have to do with the amulet?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Hear me out, Marian. Stop being impetuous."

Marian smiled a cheeky smile. The exchange had brought back memories of her family arguments at the dinner table. Carver was usually the instigator. He would pinch Bethany under the table and claim innocence when she yelped. Leandra would send Carver to his room adamant that he would not receive dinner. But later, Malcolm would sneak in a plate. Marian suspected her mother was aware of her father's traitorous act.

"The elves retreated from human contact. Hostilities soon arose and Tevinter declared war. The magisters invaded Arlathan, and supposedly used blood magic to force the very ground to swallow Arlathan whole. Those elves that survived were enslaved."

Marian shrugged. "It is a legend. I always believed it to be dramatic allegory invented by some pompous magister."

"Scholars through the centuries have pondered the tale and many have decided just as you; that it is indeed a myth. But you are wrong."

Marian's brow furrowed. Her father made it sound like he had witnessed the destruction of Arlathan firsthand. She mentally scoffed. _He was old when he died but not that ancient_. "I… don't understand. How can you be so certain?"

"Archon Thalsian used the amulet to sink Arlathan," Malcolm answered. "Thousands of elves were drained of their blood to fuel the power required to achieve such a feat."

"You're saying the amulet that Burgamond used, the one sitting next to Isabela's bottle of rum destroyed the Elven homeland? It sank a whole city? How… what?" The idea was preposterous, yet her father was serious. He had never been one to exaggerate during an explanation. Educating two young female mages required buckets of patience and succinct instruction. He never failed on either account.

"The amulet was created by the elves. It was the tool that shaped their city. But when it fell into the hands of Archon Thalsian he tainted it with the blood of a dragon and the Old God Dumat blessed it. Thalsian passed the amulet down to his eldest son and from that time forward it became the most beloved heirloom in the Imperium. Eventually, magisters fought to possess it. But the victors soon discovered that only the blood of Thalsian's direct descendants could awaken its power."

"But… Burgamond managed to use its power." Marian felt the panic rise. What was he saying? She refused to accept the obvious conclusion.

Malcolm circled Marian and continued with his explanation. It pained him to watch his daughter's admiration for him drain away. But he could not relent even if he wanted.

"Centuries later, Archon Thalsian's heirs were disgraced. The amulet was stolen and the remainder of the great house was cast into the Minrathous Circle. There, the youngest magister of the once prominent family, Accipiter, was tortured, starved and beaten."

Tears began to well in Marian's eyes. "But…" No, she refused to believe his words. Instead, she decided that it was a demon and not her father. Malcolm could see the struggle taking place and he could barely speak. No loving father wanted his daughter to suffer because of his past.

"It was a fortuitous meeting with a man named Radimus that enabled Accipiter to gain freedom from the Minrathous Circle. Radimus was an enchanter and a slave owned by the renowned Magister Cassius. Deep in the vaults of Cassius's palace Radimus had seen the amulet. The magister had paid a handsome sum to own it, though he did not have the blood needed to power it. But Radimus was an enchanter and historian and he remembered the amulet's history when others had grown complacent and forgotten. He searched for Archon Thalsian's descendant, certain that if he were found, the amulet could be used to win their freedom. In a cesspit of mages deprived of light and suffering from malnutrition he found Accipiter. When the moment was right, Radimus presented the disheveled mage to his master. Magister Cassius was impressed by Accipiter's power and offered him an apprenticeship, but Radimus made certain the magister remained ignorant of Accipiter's legacy. In time, Radimus and Accipiter used the amulet to decimate Minrathous. But when Accipiter looked back at the chaos he had wrought, he was ashamed for not only was the city awash with the blood of magisters but also the innocent. Accipiter demanded the amulet be destroyed but Radimus refused."

Marian had been listening with her eyes closed and her head bowed. She dared not look at her father for fear of seeing the truth in his eyes. "What happened?" she whispered.

"Accipiter won the duel and he believed Radimus had perished. But the day after the escape, Tevinter hunters found Radimus alive, and delivered him to the Imperum. A particularly powerful magister, who had opposed Cassius, made him an apprentice."

"And what of Accipiter?"

"He attempted to destroy the amulet but found that it could not be cut, melted or crushed by any simple tool, so he buried it. The magisters, however, incensed by their desire for revenge, never stopped searching for him. When the moment came Accipiter chose to face them if only to save his family from the truth and their deaths."

Her eyes suddenly opened. She stared at him with an intensity he had never seen and Malcolm, for the first time in his life, flinched. "Father… were you this mage?"

"I was Accipter, direct descendant of Archon Thalsian and disgraced high magister of the Tevinter Imperium. Five magisters are seeking the amulet and they will find it. Only you and your people stand between the Imperium and the power for them to once again rule the world. That cannot happen, no matter how you feel about me."

Marian stared at the man in front of her, stunned to the core by his words, hurt beyond measure and all the fondness and love she once held for him ran cold.

"You bastard!" Hateful tears began to well in her eyes. They burned as they streamed over her cheeks. "You preached to Bethany and me about the dangers of magic and how it should be understood and not hated and now..." She leapt and smacked him across the face. "How could you?"

"Marian please..."

"Please? Really?" Marian spat. "You're trying to reason with me? Were you a blood mage? Did you have slaves?" And then hit it her full force and she lost her breath. "Fenris..."

Malcolm looked away and Marian had her answer before a word was spoken. "Yes," he whispered. "I killed many in the name of power and glory until my family was disgraced."

"Do you know what you have done?" Marian shouted. "You have condemned my relationship with Fenris and endangered my friends. It took years for him to trust me and during that time I told him again and again how my father instilled the importance of responsibility when it came to magic. It was never to be used to hurt others, for gain or profit and definitely not for blood magic. No, at its core it is a blessing, it is people who corrupt it."

"Marian, I did not choose to be born a magister's son," Malcolm said. "Nor did I have any understanding of the world outside of the Imperium. What we strive to do is survive, and in a way magisters are slaves to power, albeit self inflicted power."

"Oh that's brilliant," Marian said. "Poor little magisters. It must be difficult to sit in the lap of luxury while having your ass wiped by a slave who probably feels privileged to be performing that service instead of sucking off some hairy-backed old man. I didn't want to know this." She grabbed tufts of her hair and began to pace. "It's not true."

"It is," Malcolm said.

Marian conjured a great fireball of such enormity that it encompassed both of her hands. She cast it with all her might at her father and hoped it killed him. She walked from the courtyard and her consciousness travelled into the waking world. When she awoke, Marian was sitting upright in her bed and Fenris was at her side.

Marian whispered the hardest words of her life. "Fenris, we need to talk."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes<strong>: I worked very hard to try and make Malcolm's explanation understandable because it differs from the original explanation he gave Fenris. Please keep in mind that Malcolm lied to Fenris for obvious reasons.


	46. Chapter 46: Varric Returns

Thanks to all of you for reading, replying, the wonderful reviewers and the favorites. It's always nice to know that I am corrupting people. :}

I used some of the original chapter 40 here. I couldn't use the original because it needed to change.

Some of you may wonder why I didn't write the Fenris/Hawke discussion. Honestly, I wrote five pages and decided it was unnecessary. Instead, I summed it up in this chapter. It's going to be a point of contention between the two of them from now on anyway. So if you were really hoping to see them argue… don't worry ;)

I hope you peeps like it. If not… well I'm calling you sourpuss behind your back. ;)

Thank you. :D

**Chapter 46: Varric Returns**

* * *

><p>The bedroom door opened and then swiftly closed. It wasn't Fenris; his footsteps were nearly inaudible. These were steps she had not heard in months. Two small leather boots came into view. Marian's eyes roamed upwards, past the chest hair and to the face of her friend Varric. For years they had fought together, seen and caused carnage and delved deep into places that would make for a good ghost story. Through all of their adventures Varric had never directed his anger at Marian, but now she could see it and it was fierce.<p>

Varric said nothing. He grabbed a chair and sat it next to her bedside. For a time, he simply stared at Marian. The dwarf's face was impassive and his posture stern and straight.

_Maker's breath, _Varric thought_. Sol wasn't kidding. She looks awful, and smells like she looks. _

"Alright, Hawke," Varric stated firmly. "What the hell is going on? You look like nug shit and smell like you've been rolling around on the floor of the Hanged Man."

She stared up at the ceiling, her eyes devoid of their bright spark, distant and vague. It looked as if she lacked intelligence, yet Varric knew better; Hawke was a brilliant woman. To see her now broke his heart.

"Don't call me that," she whispered. "Never call me Hawke again."

Varric quirked an eyebrow. Was she drunk? "Why? You never objected before."

She looked at him then. Her face was flushed and the end of her dainty nose was cherry red. "I see Sol didn't tell you everything."

Either Sol was hiding an important piece of the puzzle or Alistair was inept at delivering messages. For now, he was going with the latter.

"I was told that you were drinking yourself to the Void and if I didn't come here and adjust your attitude, you'd start selling your body to pay for your habit." Varric pointed at the empty wine bottles on her nightstand. "This better not be a wasted trip. You have no idea what hell I went through to be here sitting next to your side."

And it was the truth. Varric had been hounded by Meredith and her people every day since the fight in Hightown. Two hours after the battle she had stomped into the Hanged Man and barked at her men to fetch the possessed dwarf. After a very detailed and rough interrogation, Meredith was ready to throw Varric into the Gallows, regardless of the fact she had no proof he had committed a crime. But before she could act on her threat, Varric, with a wink and a smile, handed Cullen a piece of parchment that guaranteed his freedom.

He could still hear the sweet words ringing off of Meredith's lips as she read through the document. _You're a Grey Warden? This has to be forgery! Take him away!_

Cullen came to his rescue as Varric knew he would, because for all his self professed hatred of mages, Cullen still held an affinity for Solona Amell. He had let the feeling slip through his words when he spoke of her to Hawke. _But it has the official seal of the Free Marche's Warden Commander, _Cullen had said.

_This is my decision not yours! _Meredith had screamed. _You would do well not question my orders._

Cullen asked to speak to Meredith in private. Varric did not need to hear the conversation to know what had been said. If the document was authentic and they threw him in the gallows, the Grey Warden Commander would send people and those people would ask why one of their own had been imprisoned without due cause. With the surge in Grey Warden popularity, thanks to the Hero of Fereldan, the incident had the potential to attract attention from high places and Meredith would be made to answer, or be quietly relocated. This had been Varric's gamble, and it did keep him free, but not entirely out of trouble. Meredith posted a guard outside of the Hanged Man to watch him day and night. If he farted she knew about it. When Alistair arrived, Varric decided it was time to stop lying low and act. He did not want to give the Knight Commander a chance to interrogate Alistair.

"Just leave," Marian said without conviction. "I have nothing to say to you."

Varric's eyes narrowed. "You selfish bitch," he stated in a venomous tone. They stared at each other, both stubborn and resolute that they knew best. "Have you seen your friends lately? They look like shit. Even Isabela's breasts are sagging and all because you're in here feeling sorry for yourself. What about what we went through to save your ass? Maker's sake, Hawke… Marian, I let you possess me."

"That was your choice." Marian rolled her eyes away from Varric. The impassiveness insulted his patience. "You could have refused. I wish you had. I would be dead and at peace and no one would be burdened by me further."

Varric rubbed his eyes and momentarily bit back his anger. It was going to boil over and he had every intention of letting it, but he needed answers. Yelling was not going to get them.

"You've become an alcoholic because of a scar on your face and a few missing fingers?" he asked and was not apologetic when he spoke. "You know, you're not the first person in this world to be unhappy with the way they look, but you learn to live with it. The elf has, why can't you?"

"This is not about my body, Varric. My father," she growled. "That bastard finally told me the truth."

"So, it really was your father the day we fought Meredith?" Varric asked. It frightened him to think that he had been possessed by two people. "I didn't send him an invitation. I thought it was just you messing with me and my anatomy."

Tears began to stream down Marian's face. They were hot and full of hate. "It's a long story. I'm sorry we did not ask your permission first, but, if you remember, your life was in jeopardy."

He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but Varric's curiosity got the better of him. "What did your father tell you that made you want to spend your nights snuggled up to a bottle of rum instead of a prickly elf? Personally, I'd take the rum, but I've heard he makes your toes curl, so there'd better be a damn good reason for this."

"I visited my father one night in the Fade. There was something he had to tell me and it couldn't wait. I did not expect it to be the most miserable story of my life."

"Well?" Varric said. He hated being left in suspense. That was his job when telling tales of his adventures.

"He told me he was once a Tevinter magister and blood mage." Marian stated plainly. "The only reason he did not remain one was because his family was disgraced and he was cast into the Circle."

The words were unbelievable and Varric found his anger subside in the wake of the revelation. Marian had praised her father, placed him on a pedestal as the perfect example of what mages should strive to become. He was a god in her eyes. So as he sat there staring at Marian, he understood how this had affected her so deeply. But, regardless, it wasn't worth throwing her life away over it.

"Are you sure about this? It could be a demon."

Marian shook her head. "No, it all makes sense now. Besides, demons try and tempt you by fulfilling your desires. I suppose... I could have eventually learned to live with the knowledge that my father was once a magister. He changed his ways. But when he told me why Burgamond chose me as his blood victim, it was the final straw and I gave up."

"I don't understand." Varric stroked his unruly bristles. There had not been an opportunity to shave on the way to Orlais. "I thought Burgamond and Meredith concocted the plan so you wouldn't have a chance at viscount? Why else would he choose you?"

"That was their plan, yes, but the magisters specifically wanted my blood."

To hear Marian's blood was once again highly prized made Varric feel sick. It reminded him of the encounter with Corypheus. The expedition had been particularly painful since he had been forced to kill Gerav, the brilliant dwarf who had created Bianca. The man's invention was an integral part of Varric's identity and his loss had deeply wounded him.

"You know, this isn't the first time there has been an issue with your family's blood. Do you know why the magisters wanted it?"

"Yes," she whispered. She took a deep breath and with immense effort the words were finally spoken. "I am a direct descendant of the first magister, Archon Thalsian."

Varric used his trained gambling face to keep the shock from surfacing. The last thing he wanted to do was show a negative reaction. The situation was already strained and he felt it could push Marian over the edge.

"Does Broody know?" Varric asked in a gentle tone. He already knew the answer but he thought it might help Marian if she talked about it. "He better not have run off again. I don't forgive and forget twice."

"Yes," she sighed. "I told him. We do not keep secrets from each other. You know that."

"The occasional lie never hurt anyone," Varric remarked. He leaned back into his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. It was his 'be rational' pose. "Look, maybe you are a direct descendant of some long dead magister. What does it matter? You're not one of them, Hawke."

"Marian," she corrected.

Varric frowned and tried to stay focused instead of making a smart remark. "My father wasn't perfect either. He disgraced my whole family before I was born and then they were forced out of Orzamar. It's spilt milk and it's curdled but I don't cry over it."

"You do not understand," Marian said and every word was laced with anger. "Archon Thalsian was responsible for enslaving the elves. Do you see how this might effect my relationship with Fenris?"

_Not only Fenris but I bet Daisy isn't too happy about it either. I'm starting to think it's an understatement to say that Hawke has had a bad year. _

It was strange for Varric to think of Marian as a daughter of a magister. She was kind, charitable, tolerant of a moody elf and most importantly always laughed at Varric's jokes. He could not fathom how much courage it had taken for her to tell Fenris about her father's past transgressions. Varric was certain the elf had acted poorly to the news. In time, he hoped to hear the story of Marian and her father's chat in detail. For now, he needed to help his friend. Nosiness would have to wait.

"Broody loves you. Surely, he wouldn't hold your family's past against you." Varric wondered who he was trying to convince. "Marian, you've proven to him that you're a responsible mage. You helped free him from Danarius and you even taught him how to stand up straight. If he can't see past this, that's his problem. You can't give up because you have a black sheep in the family. If you do, then everything we have fought for means nothing."

Marian's back straightened against the headboard. "A black sheep?" Her voice raised several octaves. "Varric we are not talking about a perverted old uncle. This man enslaved a whole race, probably helped blacken the Golden City and angered the Maker. How does someone live knowing their family is the epitome of evil?"

He shrugged the comment away. "Those are just minor details," he said. "The point is there is nothing you can do about it. You're a good person, the best, and your father… he does have a lot to answer for but he did raise you well. You can't dispute that."

"He's a hypocrite," she huffed. "I believed in him and his wisdom. I trusted him, Varric, and he lied to me and poor Bethany. He lied to us all."

"He did and he's a bastard but if you lay here and drink yourself to death then you've let Burgamond, Meredith and those magisters win. You can't let them get away with what they have done to you and your friends. Meredith will kill us all, and I guarantee Fenris's head will be the first to be introduced to the chopping block." Varric pointed at her and he raised his voice. "If you can't live for yourself then live for them."

Marian looked away and wiped her eyes with a sodden handkerchief. "I can't, Varric," she whispered. "There is no fight left in me. Everything that I was is gone. It died the moment my father told me the truth."

Varric stood up with enough force to make his chair tumble over. He pointed to the door.

"So leave."

"What?"

"I'm not going sit around and watch everyone suffer while you drink yourself to death," he yelled. "I'm going to remember the woman I met seven years ago and forget about what's laying in front me. I won't let you sully those memories."

"You can't kick me out of my own house, Varric," she warned. "I don't think you would be very successful if you tried."

He stepped closer to the bed. He peered down into her eyes and showed the powerful mage that he was not frightened by any threat she dared to deliver. "Right now, I'm not your friend and this isn't your house. They're coming, Marian," he whispered in a foreboding tone. "My informants have heard word that there are search parties heading for Kirkwall. If you really want to drink to forget then go do it elsewhere. The rest of us are going to do your job for you."

Marian eased her body upright; her eyes never strayed from Varric's. "The Tevinters are sailing to Kirkwall? They're looking for me." She finally realized the severity of the situation. Varric had delivered reality. "How many are there?"

"What do you care?"

"I do care." But Marian could only think of the blood flowing through her veins, Tevinter blood, and the evil it had wrought throughout history. How many had died at the hands of her ancestors and how many were still dying in Tevinter? "At least I did until…"

Varric folded his arms over his chest. He turned his back on Marian and walked towards the cottage window. "They aren't just looking for you," he said in a solemn voice. "They are looking for anyone who knows you, anyone who has talked to you, worked for you, shined your shoes, anyone that can tell them where to find the amulet." Varric faced her to drive home his point. He had to keep the momentum going if he was going to get through to Marian. "And do you think they are going to be nice when they ask these questions? Do you think they are going to leave the alienage alone? These guys aren't like the thugs and the deranged mages we usually battle. They've got money, lots of it and power, more power than the Free Marches put together. They've got a contract out on me and everyone else, even the warden. I swear, if they think that amulet is in the Kirkwall Chantry, they'll walk right in and take it, templars be damned, because once they have it… well I suppose you know better than anyone what that means."

"How do I know you are telling you the truth? Are you waiting to see if I call your bluff? I deserve better than to be treated like one of your card games, Varric."

"You deserve better than to become a drunkard." he shouted and then paused to catch his breath. "But I know you better than anyone. You'll sit there and drink your life away until you're ready to end it, and no one will be able to convince you to stop. So if that's what you are going to do, then leave. That's all I ask and you owe me that much."

Marian prodded her chest. Her face flushed as she spoke and her movements became more animated. "My father did this to me Varric!" she screamed. "I don't even know who I am anymore. I believed in him and his wisdom and he betrayed me."

"I don't think this is about your father. I think you are afraid," Varric stated. "He could have told you the moon was made out of cheese and you either believe it or you don't. People get told what's right and wrong all of the time, but in the end they make their own choices. We need you. The whole damn world does. So be the exception and quit pissing and moaning about a past you can't change."

"But Varric..." she started to say.

Varric held up his hand and shook his head. "What about your mother, your sister and brother? If Sunshine were here what would she say?" He leaned in until his face was only a breath away. "It's not time to join them yet, Marian. You still have things to do."

"Do not bring them into this Varric," she spat. If he pushed it, she had every intention of burning the hair right off of his chest.

"Oh I see. As long as you focus on your hatred for your father you have an excuse to sit here and feel sorry for yourself. Well then, maybe I should tell you what Meredith convinced the Senechal to do with your estate."

Marian's eyes narrowed. There were many subjects Varric would exaggerate in order to get a reaction, but Marian knew he would never delve this low. "She doesn't have the authority."

"No?" He looked surprised by her statement. "She's been running the city since the viscount's death. The only person standing between her and total control is Aveline. How hard do you think it would be for someone with that much power to seize an estate of a dead noble? The way things are in Kirkwall with the tension growing, it's the last thing people care about. Or did you think you were so damned important that they'd make your estate into a shrine?"

It made sense. Meredith was pissing on her territory now that she believed Marian was dead. The next thing to go, she was certain, would be Aveline.

"What did she do, Varric?"

Varric took no satisfaction in what he had to say. The estate wasn't about status or bragging rights, it had been Marian's new beginning and it had been for her mother. It was a sacred topic.

"She seized your house, Marian. Meredith had her people go through your room, your study, your wine cellar, but worst of all she took everything, even your mother's belongings." Varric opened his hand and placed Leandra's locket in Marian's hand. "It's the only thing I managed to save before the rest of your belongings were auctioned."

Marian's hand wrapped around her mother's amulet and her knuckles turned white as she squeezed it. She let loose a roar of anguish that echoed throughout the cottage and out into the garden. It wasn't wholly unexpected but it took Varric by surprise.

Marian threw back the covers and stumbled to her feet. "I'll rip her fucking head off."

The desired effect had been achieved. Varric mentally patted himself on the back. "You might want to deal with the immediate problem before you go pick a fight with Meredith. You've got magisters looking for you and the word is they've amassed a small army."

"How many?"

"Word on the street is three hundred." Varric rubbed his forehead. The stress of the situation was starting to show. "I'd say we've faced worse but we haven't."

Marian wrapped her robe around her body. Modesty in front of friends was a thing of the past. They had trampled through Kirkwall and the Wounded Coast shoulder to shoulder, sharing tents and taking baths in any puddle that looked inviting. She could plot out every mole and scar on her companion's bodies. "Drinking is starting to sound appealing again." Marian ran her hand through her hair. _A handful of us against three-hundred… I don't like the odds. _"Varric, I don't know how to take on an army. When the others find out…"

"They already know, Chuckles, and not one of them has threatened to abandon you." Varric smiled. "As a matter of fact, they are trying to come up with a plan of attack. They've even got some pretty girl helping them."

"Pretty girl?" Marian could not recall anyone mentioning the arrival of someone new. "What is her name?"

"I can't remember." He shrugged and decided to aggravate Marian. "Human names sound all the same to me. She was sitting between Buttercup and Daisy."

"Buttercup?" Marian's perfectly plucked eyebrow rose. "Varric are you going to make sense soon?"

"That warden, what's his name? Alistair? I call him Buttercup and the girl… I don't know who the hell she is, so I just call her pretty girl."

"You call a man who was a prince and helped defeat an archdemon, Buttercup? And is this pretty girl, Amelia Pendragon by any chance?"

Varric snapped his fingers. "That's the one. Maker she makes my sore eyes feel good."

"Varric, the last time I saw Petunia… Amelia she had long frizzy hair that covered most of her body, including her face, and had the dress sense of a colorblind clown."

"I don't know who Petunia is, but Amelia…" Marian had never seen such a wide smile on Varric's face. "She can drink my ale anytime."

The subject, Marian realized, needed to be changed before Varric veered off course and started inventing stories revolving around a love struck dwarf and the human woman who had made his chest hairs stand on end. "So… three hundred Tevinters believe they are going to walk into Orlais unopposed? That's an act of war."

"As far as I know they don't know where you are hiding. But once they get to Kirkwall, I don't think it will take them long to figure it out."

"But everyone thinks I'm dead."

"Well that's the odd thing. They think you are alive. I don't know how they know, but they do, and they're trying to find you."

Marian considered Varric's words. Someone could have told them she was alive, perhaps an informant, but that seemed unlikely since she was surrounded by friends. But then there was her father. _Is he leading them to me? _The thought gave her pause._ No. He may not be the man I believed him to be but I know he loves me. _The answer came to her and she wanted to deny it, but it was the only logical explanation._ He has been protecting me from Dreamers. _

"Hawke…"

"What?" she snapped. "I told you not to call me by that name."

"Oh excuse me for getting your attention," he said with a hint of annoyance. "You had that look on your face like when you're daydreaming about the elf, which I wish you wouldn't do in public. It makes Bianca blush."

Marian was too lost in her thoughts to care about Varric's quip. "I think my father… Malcolm is the key to defeating the magisters."

An over exaggerated huff was the response to her statement. "You know, I promised myself that I was going to give up on hypothetical magical batshittery after you possessed me. You've got mage friends. Talk it over with them. I'm going to drink the rest of this rum." Varric grabbed the bottle and uncorked it. He took one long swig, which he felt he had more than earned, before gasping for air.

"He's not dead, Varric. I mean, he is but he isn't."

Varric pointed to the door. "Mage friends. Not me."

Her face lit up. The bright spark was back in her eyes. "Amelia… I need Amelia," Marian exclaimed. "She might understand."

"She's pretty and smart? My type of woman." Varric waggled his eyebrows. "Let's go see her." His face turned pensive. "Pendragon… why does that sound so familiar?"

Marian grabbed her mage robe and began to dress behind a screen. When she got a whiff of her body, she decided it would be best to have a bath once Varric departed. "Have you ever heard of Uther Pendragon? She is his daughter."

"Holy shit, you're kidding." Varric had to put the bottle of rum on the table before he dropped it. "What the hell is she doing here?" He patted his trousers. "I need… I have to find a quill and some ink. I've got to write this down."

"You are going to make Bianca jealous if you keep getting excited by another woman."

A boyish grin swept across Varric's face. "Bianca or you? Don't think I haven't forgotten."

"Oh Varric let it go," Marian said. She remained behind the screen until she was certain there was no longer a bright blush coloring her cheeks.

"Never," he teased. His thoughts turned back to the troubles that lay before them. "It looks like saving the world is down to us." Varric's eyes fleeted to Marian's staff, the one her father had carved when they lived in Lothering. "Papa Hawke left you one hell of a legacy."

"I've cleaned up his mess before, what's one more time?"

"I guess we are in this head first."

"Better than ass backwards."

"If you say so."

Marian took a seat on the end of her bed. She worried her nail, a nervous habit she had picked up from her father. "Have you seen Fenris?"

"I think he and Donnic are sharing a workman's cottage. If they start picking out curtains you'd better worry." Varric laughed at her disgruntled face. "Did you kick him out or was that his choice? You never did say how he took the news."

"It was consensual."

"I don't get it. Are angry with each other? Has he decided that he can't be with you because you could be related to Danarius? What is it?"

The once placid features turned sour. Marian scowled at him. "That's not funny, Varric."

"I couldn't help it," he said, clearly amused by his own antics.

Marian's head bowed. "We decided it would be best to spend some time apart and work out how we feel."

"That sounds very mature and reasonable for Broody."

"Of course, that might be how I interpreted it after Fenris spent the evening trying to destroy the amulet and yelled 'it can't be true' every other breath. Then he blamed me and then himself for getting involved with me, and then he vowed to kill my father right after he punched Anders in the face. He ran away into the night. I haven't seen him since."

None of it surprised Varric. It saddened him that Fenris and Marian were labored with yet another problem. Their relationship was always taking a beating. "I guess he didn't take the news well."

"Actually, I thought it was a bit restrained. He could have ripped Ander's heart out." She sighed. "I still don't understand what possessed Anders to tell him to calm down."

"That's funny."

"What in Thedas could you possibly find funny about all of this?"

"What possessed Anders," Varric laughed. "Because you know…. Anders is actually….

"I get it," Marian rolled her eyes. "Maker, you have a bad sense of humor."

"I wish I could have seen Fenris hit him." There was admiration mixed with humor in Varric's words. "That punch has been a long time coming. Some part of me likes it that Broody got the first hit in."

"You see a silver lining under every cloud don't you, Varric?"

"I'm a dwarf. We like shiny things."

The two friends quieted. They were mulling over the conversation and the new information they had received. It was a predicament unlike any they had yet to find themselves in. For the first time since they had met, Varric doubted they could win. But if they were going to lose, he was going to do it with style.

"What's your plan, Chuckles? Where do we start?"

Marian nodded to the bottle of rum in Varric's hands. "Let's have one drink together and then I'll have a bath. You can pour the bubbles if you want." She leaned over and kissed Varric on the cheek. "Thank you for bringing my mother's amulet to me. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Oh Chuckles, now stop it. You're going to confuse me… again."

"Chuckles…" She tapped her finger against her lips. "I think I like it."

"Good, because Amell doesn't have the same ring to it as Hawke." Marian threw the rum cork at Varric's head. He watched it bounce across the floor and laughed when it landed in the fire. "Now, I've got to deliver some letters. When you're done scrubbing between your toes get out here and make an appearance. Morale is at an all time low and it's not even a Tuesday."

"Ah yes, how could I forget about Kirkwall Tuesdays?" She shook her head and tutted like a disappointed mother. "It was always the peak day for blood mages and abominations."

Varric seemed to give it serious consideration. "I wonder why that is?"

"Everyone hates Mondays," she said as if the answer were obvious. "I know I do."

"I'm going before this conversation gets any weirder," Varric winked. "Or you break down in a fit of lust and demand I join you in the bath."

"Go!"

Varric laughed. "Nice to have you back, Chuckles."


	47. Chapter 47: Solitude is Dangerous

Thank you very much for the reviews, the favorites and your wonderful support. I'm sorry i can't reply to guest reviews, but know that they are much appreciated. *big hugs* to EkoCentric for putting up with my terrible replies.

This chapter was fun to write. I hope you enjoy it :D It's strange, but I always imagine him looking like Hawke in the Destiny trailer for the game. And that voice! As someone said to me, it is a shame we never saw him. I agree! Cryptic weirdness complete.

Thank you!

**Chapter 47: Solitude is Dangerous for Active Minds**

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><p>Amelia had spent her life locked away in a room, closed off from the world with only her work and books to keep her company. She was hounded to invent by her father's apprentice, Morton, and punished if she failed to complete a project on time. Every day she looked out her window at the world and wondered if she would ever find a way to walk free.<p>

One evening after a brutal confrontation with her father, Amelia had silently vowed to take her life. She believed inhaling the vapor from boiling lyrium would prove fatal, as many textbooks had stated, but instead she walked consciously into the Fade. Over time, she learned how to traverse through the warped reality and shape it to fulfill her desires, to explore the love and acceptance that she would never receive from her father. Now, years later, she was going to use the same method to help her friend Marian, whom she had come to trust and admire.

Locating a specific person in the Fade was like finding a needle in a haystack but it was possible if a mage understood the connections between people. Amelia was certain Malcolm watched over Marian and protected her from Dreamers. The amount of power required to keep her shielded would be easy to detect since Marian was only a short walk away in the physical world.

The lyrium potion was bubbling inside the vial and from it rose a blue vapor. Amelia inhaled deeply. The objects in the room began to melt and warp, pooling into a vortex of color and light. Then the physical world was gone, replaced by a distorted and wholly changing landscape where the order and rules of nature ceased to exist. The spirit's perception shaped this reality.

Amelia waited for the nausea to subside before she began to search for Malcolm. Entering the Fade through the use of lyrium was an uncomfortable experience. Once her eyes had adjusted, she found that she was standing in a forest of twisted trees. In the distance, just beyond the casted shadows, she could see a mound of light pierced with numerous beams of shifting color. The light was the path to Malcolm.

As Amelia ran through the forest the landscape continually changed. Trees gave way to rocks and rocks gave way to water and the cycle continued.

Finally, after traversing a desert, a mountain range and a meadow, and having weathered an unexpected squall, Amelia stood before the light. She leapt into it, and in less than the blink of an eye, she was in someone else's memory.

It was a peasant's house on the edge of Lothering. It occurred to Amelia as she stood staring at an old splintered door that she was walking straight into the lion's den.

Amelia walked through the door and into the kitchen where Malcolm sat drinking his tea. Marian had never described her father. Those who had seen him the day he possessed Varric said he was an intimidating older man, but what Amelia saw was someone her age eating a biscuit and sipping tea. She decided Varric had yet again exaggerated while telling one of his stories. That should not have come as a surprise, but it did.

_I guess I should say something before he blasts me out of the Fade, _Amelia thought_. _She decided to announce her presence. "Hello, blood mage."

Malcolm peered up over his teacup. His mouth was hidden but the crinkle at the edge of his eyes showed that he was amused. He sat the teacup down on an aged doily and folded his hands together.

"Hello to you too," he said. His deep voice was authoritative and tinged with the intonation of an educated man.

Amelia grabbed a biscuit from the plate without asking and took a seat. She sniffed it and her lip immediately curled. "Mint biscuits? I hate mint biscuits." Malcolm waved his hand and changed the biscuits to gingerbread men. She laughed at the silly expressions on their faces. One was angry, another surprised and the last was grumpy. "Put some pointy ears on that one and you'll have Fenris."

He did as she asked and agreed that it was indeed a good representation of the elf.

"Why have you invaded my privacy? I am certain someone with your particular talent is quite capable of imagining their own confections."

"You must know why I am here," she said flatly, unimpressed by his attempt at humor. She examined Malcolm while she nibbled one of Fenris's ears. "I thought you would be older."

"My age varies depending on the memory." Malcolm conjured a mirror. He stroked his neatly trimmed beard and brushed his hand through his dark hair. "At this age, I was a mercenary working in Kirkwall."

Amelia studied him again. She tilted her head to the side. "Why are you so handsome? I was expecting you to look like a homely wizened man, dressed in grey robes, with crumbs in his long, yellowed beard. "

Malcolm laughed and was surprised to find that he was blushing. "You say that as if it is an accusation. Do you often speak your mind without thought to modesty?"

"I state the facts, blood mage, but… I do wonder if this is a deliberate deception. Your handsome features distract me and I find it hard to concentrate."

Malcolm was surprised, yet flattered by her candor, and again by the leisurely perusal she gave his body. "Do you think you can ever forgive me for my rugged good looks and my youthful beard? Or is an apology in order?"

The woman before him was nothing like Marian had described. Her hair was in a neat bun, pulled back so that her face was unobstructed. She wore an over bust corset, the color of dark amethyst, trimmed in delicate lace and held up with golden straps. The ornate sleeves attached to the corset ended at her shoulders, leaving the soft round shape exposed. He followed the view down to the tight velvet leggings and stopped to admire her shapely thighs. It had been ten years since Malcolm was in the company of a woman other than his daughter. He loved Leandra, but he was still a man, and the beautiful woman facing him was making him feel lonelier by the second.

"Are you going to continue to address me as 'blood mage'? I can't say that I care for it."

"I haven't decided. I must remain vigilant and angry," Amelia stated flatly. She walked to the cupboard and grabbed a teacup. "It's chipped," she sounded disappointed. "You could at least make an effort to imagine functional dishes."

He motioned to the rough and ready kitchen. "I do believe the Queen's fine porcelains would not be fitting in this particular environment. Besides, it reminds me of better days," Malcolm said with a hint of annoyance in his words. "And why must you be angry? This old wizened man prefers it when you smile."

"I need you to find me intimidating," she asserted with a confidence equal to her opponent, but then she contradicted it with a smile. "Could you please imagine a place more pleasant? You're sitting in the light of one small window when you could be outside enjoying a fine summer's day."

"I hope you won't be angry if I do not find you to be so intimidating." He waved his hand and the house transformed into a grassy hill and they were seated under an old tree.

"I'm already angry, remember?" Amelia huffed. She found the surrounding landscape boring. It was nothing but empty fields. "So much for you being my intellectual equal, blood mage."

He irritated her further with a charming smile. "If I may ask, why do you think I am your intellectual equal?"

Amelia plucked a seeded dandelion from the ground and blew on it. The little seeds floated away on the imagined wind. It was the simple pleasures that made her happy.

"Marian said that you were a learned man that few if any have equaled in knowledge and wisdom."

"Perhaps… but I am no Amelia Pendragon," Malcolm said.

"Flattery may encourage me to be nicer but I am not easily fooled." Amelia stared into his blue eyes. She wanted to look away but every time he smiled or laughed they twinkled and she became transfixed. "Why are you…?"

This he wanted to hear. He believed Amelia's mouth might be disconnected from her brain. "Why am I…?"

Amelia was staring openly at his bicep. He was convinced she had no shame. "You are very muscular for a mage. Is your memory accurate or you imagining the body you always wanted?"

Malcolm laughed. After the ordeal with Marian he was convinced he would never find humor in his life again. There was no denying that Amelia was outspoken, but she was also a much needed breath of fresh air in his stale existence, and he was thankful for her company. It had come at his most desperate hour.

"My memories, those that I can recall, are impeccably accurate."

She blushed and moved her eyes to the tree. The visit with Malcolm was not going as she had planned. "I see."

Malcolm leaned back against the tree trunk. "You can find people in the Fade. That is a rare talent even in Tevinter."

_This is not going well, _Amelia thought_. This is Marian's father. I am not supposed to look at him like… that. I would also do well to remember that he is dead… maybe. _"I suspect I have been traversing the Fade longer than most. It has always been a home away from home."

"It is impressive," Malcolm said. He closed his eyes and enjoyed a memory of a soft warm breeze against his face. It was not Fereldan air, all bitter and cold that he recalled, but that of Tevinter. As he sat remembering the outdoors, the many sounds and the warmth of the sun, he felt contented. For so long he had punished himself by restricting his thoughts to a single place. The change brought a slim smile to his face.

Amelia noticed his smile. It was thoughtful and genuine and she wondered why. "I want to discuss the amulet."

The smile faded. His mood immediately turned somber at the mention of the amulet. "Marian recounted my story. There is little else I can tell you."

"I have no interest in lore. I want to understand how this amulet works. What spell did you cast that destroyed you and the other mages?"

He opened one eye to look at the stubborn mage. "You do know the amulet is extremely powerful. Even a young, pretty, willful, intelligent mage can fall prey to the temptation of the power they could wield through it."

"Are you flirting with me, Messere Hawke?"

"A little," he confessed. The smile was back on his face. "But I do not jest when I say this amulet could be your undoing. It would be best to find the means to destroy it."

She rolled her eyes. He was either toying with her or missing the point completely. "I can only do that if I know how it works."

Malcolm pushed himself upright. He made certain to keep eye contact with Amelia. "And you are certain that you can destroy it? You are certain you can resist it? You're not the first intelligent mage who was cocky enough to think they knew best."

"I am not you," she stated simply.

As a whole Malcolm admired her tenacity and he found his eyes admiring her other attributes. _Maker forgive me, but I cannot stop myself._ _How long has it been since I have been allowed a respite from my misery? "_Perceptive too… that leaves me at a disadvantage. I enjoy speaking of myself through liberal use of allegory."

"My mind excels at figuring out how things work," Amelia said, confident in her growing assessment of Malcolm's personality. "Before we are through, I will know how you work."

"People are not so simple that you can assign a definitive explanation to their nature," Malcolm argued. It was obvious to him that Amelia underestimated the complexity of people and their emotions, which could not easily be defined. It was naivety or egotism, though the latter did not seem to fit her personality.

"Nature repeats itself; therefore, you need only to recognize the patterns therein and as such, a person can be defined."

He concluded that it was naivety. "At the end of our discussions I expect a full explanation of how I work."

"You mock me," she said, the hurt in her voice more evident than she wished.

"I do no such thing," he reassured her. She was more sensitive to criticism than he had expected, considering she was an inventor whose work was always up for scrutiny. "I ask only for your findings like any good scholar so that I may further my own knowledge."

Amelia sighed. "You won't like what I have to say."

"So I suspected."

"The lyrium is wearing thin. I will be leaving soon and I have yet to get a straight answer from you. I will need to return, if I may?"

Malcolm smirked. "When you sleep tonight I will guide you here and answer your questions. There is no need to breathe lyrium vapors."

"How did you know?"

"There are three methods that can be employed to enter the Fade at will," Malcolm said. "I supposed you were not in possession of solid lyrium, therefore, you boiled a potion. It can induce a trip to the Fade, but few are aware of that method. In Tevinter it is considered crude."

"Then it is fortunate that I do not live there," Amelia said.

"Yes it is," Malcolm replied.

Amelia twiddled a ribbon tied to her corset. She felt guilt for what she was about to say.

"Messere Hawke," she whispered.

"Yes?"

"I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I."

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><p>P.S.<p>

Please keep in mind that in Act 2 of DA2 that Leandra was ready to move on and try and find a suitor. So... before everyone gets annoyed at Malcolm and feels sorry for Leandra, keep in mind that he has been stuck in the Fade for 10 years without companionship. However, that does not guarantee anything will happen between him and Amelia ;)


	48. Chapter 48: Possession

**Thank you everyone for your reviews, favorites and for reading!**

Maybe four to five chapters left. I think it grew from my original estimate. Everything from this point onwards has an important reason for happening even if it doesn't seem obvious right now. Be thankful I spared all of you the possessed sex scene ;). Thank you!

**Chapter 48: Possession**

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><p>"It's too dangerous," Sol said. "You have no idea what the effect will be on Fenris or the rest of us. You could die doing something so foolish."<p>

This was their third argument in less than a day. Amelia had changed, and in his opinion it was not for the better. It had been little alterations at first; a corset, tight leggings and then the tasteful application of makeup. Beauty, poise, grace, she had it all, and with it came her confidence. Alistair had gotten the wrong idea. Poor lad. The household assumed Amelia had taken notice of his constant lecherous stare, but she ignored his infatuation. She reserved it for a man who should know better.

"It will work," Amelia said swiftly, brushing aside his objection quickly. "Malcolm and I have discussed the theory to death. Would you dispute his word?"

_I would ring his neck if I could find him in the Fade. _"Maker's breath," Sol cursed. "I still can't believe you were insane enough to seek him out. Have you considered that he may be a pride demon or an unknown spirit?"

"He is not a pride demon," she stated without emotion. The argument, the same one they had been having for weeks was wearing her patience thin. "How many times must I say it?" _It is like talking to a child. _"Demons pick an easy target. Marian and I are hardly simple prey."

"Say it is possible to break the amulet, what then?" Sol asked and he shrugged. "What did your new _friend _suggest we do after that?"

"That we take the broken pieces and fashion them into smaller amulets to be worn," Amelia explained. "It will make us impervious to magical attacks." She gestured to a stack of scrolls on her desk. "Read my theories again if you must, but you know it is sound. You're just too damn stubborn to admit it."

"I admit the theory is plausible," Sol said as he pointed straight at her. "But I question your motives for doing this."

Her answer came swift and it was unapologetic. "I will free Malcolm from the Fade and I will use any means necessary."

If Sol had any doubts about her involvement with Malcolm Hawke they were washed away by the intensity of her response. He had seen that look of determination on her face before and when it happened, she carried through, stubborn and resolute, until the task was finished.

"And that is exactly what scares me. Why?" He stretched his arms out as if he wanted a hug, but it was a plea for a sensible answer. "You have the information you sought. Why must you take it a step further?"

"That is none of your business," she stated plainly but with conviction. They were using her money and her inventions for this war. As far as the debt she owed Marian, it had been paid twice over. What she did now was solely for Malcolm. Being with him had made her selfish and unafraid of the criticism she would face if her secret became known. Perhaps, if the world had been kinder, Amelia would not have sought the company of a man beyond her reach. She would have accepted that there were less complicated relationships to ease her loneliness. But love was not logical and in Malcolm she found her equal and a man understanding of the life she had endured.

Sol straightened his back. The color of his cheeks matched the hue of his hair. "Oh, it became my business the day you told me you were speaking to Malcolm Hawke in the Fade."

"You forced the issue and now here we are," Amelia said and she gestured widely to the world.

"I do not regret forcing the issue. Marian should know that you are attempting to free her father from the Fade," Sol said, self assured in his appraisal of the situation. "Assuming your theory that he still lives is correct."

"This is none of your concern, nor of Marian's. This is between Malcolm and me and that is where it will remain," Amelia yelled. She had questioned Malcolm about this very thing; should she tell Marian? His reply: "I love my daughter but I would not have her know of this relationship, and not for the reason you may believe. My private affairs, no pun intended, are none of her business. I do not answer to my child. "

"Ah, and there it is," Sol said, making it sound as if it was a sudden revelation. "This isn't some exchange of information between two brilliant minds is it? Are you…" He almost did not want to ask the question. "Romantically involved with him?"

"That is definitely none of your business," Amelia growled back at him and she challenged his candor with an intimidating scowl. Her hands folded over her arms like he had seen Isabela do many times when she was angry. But Amelia did not place her hand on one hip or raise a disgruntled eyebrow. She glared at him instead, and the power of magic filled the room.

Sol threw his hands in the air. "Andraste's tits, woman. How does that even work? He doesn't have a body and he was twice your age when he died. Why would you?" The mage shook his head. "I don't understand."

"With age comes experience." She smirked. "And if you must know, he is my age in the Fade," she responded.

Sol's mocking laughter filled the room. This was no naive child who stood before him, but an experienced and well trained mage. She could not claim ignorance. "You do know he is manipulating his age? He can be a two-year-old if he so chooses." Sol brushed his antagonism away. He was sincerely concerned for the young woman. "Everything aside, Amelia, why? There are more suitable men right here. Alistair is interested and he is alive. Why must you dabble with the dead?"

"Malcolm is not dead." Amelia whispered. "I will bring him back." It was not just a statement, it was a promise. In those words Sol heard the sound of adoration, of love, and it made him jealous. Isabela would never say it, and he doubted whether she even felt love for him.

"I think Marian needs to know."

"If you tell her I will not help with this war," Amelia threatened. "I will find another way to release him."

Sol said nothing for a time. The flames in the fire were receding, much like his resolve. He had spent the majority of his life in the Circle obeying and whittling away his time with potion making, but it did not mean he had never thought of romance. If anything, it had always been on his mind.

"You're in love with him aren't you?"

"And what if I am?"

"There are many lives riding on these theories of his. That is why it matters and that is why I ask questions," Sol stated in an even tone. To harp on about her relationship with Malcolm was going to drive her away and whether he liked it or not, they needed Amelia.

"Do you have any suggestions of your own? No, you do not," Amelia said before he could reply. "Malcolm has the answers and he will do anything to protect his daughter and... me. So let it be, Sol."

"Answer one question."

"I might," Amelia said. She knew Sol would continue to probe further into her relationship. It was and was not a part of her life she wanted to share. Malcolm made her happy and did much to change her views of men. Yesterday, he taught her a brief dance lesson. Tonight, they had plans to break from the discussions of war and to talk of their past. It would include Leandra and his children but she did not mind. It was a part of him, an integral part and she enjoyed listening to him speak.

"You will answer or I will march straight to Marian and tell her what you have done."

"A hollow threat if I have ever heard one," Amelia rolled her eyes and glared above Sol's bald head. "Ask your question if you must."

"Has he possessed you?"

"What?" The question made her feel vulnerable and her anger grew.

"Has Malcolm possessed you during the last several weeks? I have seen him do it twice before."

Amelia turned on her heel and started for the door. She hesitated before she opened it. "Now you know how we are intimate," she said to him over her shoulder. The playful smirk on her lips did not go unnoticed. It was sexy and mischievous at once and for a brief moment Sol envied Malcolm.

"Let me get this straight. Malcolm possesses you and then you and he both use your body and mind to have sex? That is..." He rubbed his head and closed his widened eyes. "Maker, I can't find the words."

"It is more complicated than that, but yes we can feel each other," Amelia said. She wanted to laugh at his bewildered expression. It was rewarding for her to watch Sol grapple with right and wrong. Life was straightforward in the Circle. A mage was told what they should think and do, but in the real world there were grey areas that provided no easy answer.

"And Sol..."

Sol sighed and ran his fingers over his face. He stopped to tug at his lower lip. "I am afraid to ask. What?"

She flashed him her briefest but brightest smile. "It is the closest two people can be. Every thought, every feeling is shared including... the release. Even Isabela cannot top that." Amelia winked and walked out of the door before Sol could ask further questions.

In the distance were thick plumes of grey smoke rising from the cottage chimney. Someone was cooking, probably Alistair. That man ate more than the two horses in the stable combined. Amelia smiled as she thought of him shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth.

When she came to the tree line Amelia hesitated. Marian was speaking with Fenris in the midst of a daffodil patch. It was a visual contradiction to the sound of their raised voices.

_Not a good sign, _Amelia thought_. Why can he not see that she is the same person? I agree with Malcolm, he does not deserve her continued patience. But who am I to judge? I hate blood mages and yet I find that I am in love with one._

Amelia waited for the confrontation to end. She watched Fenris walk away without uttering a word and then, when he was out of sight, Marian wiped her eyes.

_I want to comfort her but I feel that would be hypocritical. Fenris is being a tit and I am sleeping with her father. She really is having a bad year._

A twig snapped under Amelia's foot and alerted Marian to her presence. She waved and Amelia walked reluctantly to greet a woman she preferred to avoid.

"How are you, Marian?" Amelia asked. The red puffy eyes answered the question.

Marian smiled through her tears. "I have fared better." She dug the toe of her boot into the ground and made circles. It was a childhood habit from the days when she was scolded for seeking revenge on Carver for being mean to Bethany. "You should join the others. I will be in momentarily."

Amelia bowed her head. "If you..." She hesitated when Marian looked up at her. "If you need someone to talk to I am happy to listen." _Wonderful. Guilt has made me stupid._

"Thank you," Marian said. "Perhaps later. I need to stop blubbering and compose myself for this meeting." She sniffed and straightened out her posture. "A crying leader does nothing for morale."

It was easy to understand why Marian was loved by her companions. Varric had said the previous evening during a game of Wicked Grace that he would not know what to do without Hawke. That probably held true for the rest of the household. Over weeks of observing Marian and her friends, Amelia realized that, although they were not blood relatives, they were a family, a very strange and argumentative one.

"I will meet you inside," Amelia said. "Do not be long or I am certain Varric will come looking for you and then there will be... questions."

"He does excel at asking awkward questions, doesn't he?" A pleasant smile formed on Marian's lips. It was as if the mere mention of the dwarf's name calmed and satisfied her like a warm drink. Amelia supposed that was part of Varric's charm. He had a way of putting people at ease through stories and comical observations. "Could you go and distract him? I need a moment."

Amelia nodded. "I have a new weapon design for him to peruse. It should keep him entertained."

"Thank you," Marian whispered. Conversations with Amelia were always awkward. There were long pauses between discussions and it felt unnatural and forced when Amelia spoke. Marian would have accredited this to Amelia's years locked away in a room without company, but with the other housemates Amelia conversed without effort. In time, she suspected they would become better friends.

Marian pushed the thought of Amelia aside. She looked up, away from the angry spot she had created with the toe of her boot and at the sky. It was bleeding vivid shades of red and orange across the horizon. Even the world seemed to reflect her inner emotions. The confession her father had given wounded Marian. It toppled defenses that had been strengthened by years of hardship and adversity, because through her trials Marian had depended on one faith: the memory of her father. There were people who sought comfort in religion, in money, notoriety, in their craft or their children, but Marian had always found comfort in the wisdom that he had bestowed upon her. 'Belief in humanity' Malcolm had said. Marian snorted at the thought. _That's rich coming from a man who never really knew the meaning of the word._

Few daughters could claim to have the bond shared by Malcolm and Marian, for it was bound by magic and a life spent shaping the Fade together.

Marian bowed her head. If she allowed these thoughts to take hold they would rock her confidence. There were too many people depending on her to lead them. As she neared her bedroom door she thought of Fenris. If their places were switched would she understand? Of course, but would she doubt? Would she spend every day wondering if he too possessed the dark ability to kill for power? One could argue that they already fight for power, not justice. But to take life without meaning… did she have that desire buried somewhere within? She had felt the power when she possessed Varric. It was potent, addictive even, and it felt natural, as if she had always known that she could harness it. That was a mage's temptation. Her father may have been a fraud, but who better to recognize corruption than a magister?

'Mage War Room', the sign on the door read. Marian rolled her eyes at her own silliness. She walked into her bedroom and found her would-be war mages sitting around the perimeter of the bed, a configuration that left each person unable to make eye contact with another, so instead they twiddled their thumbs. _There must be some way to make this room look civilized. We_ _need a table, some chairs and a laundry basket for my dirty clothes._

_Where is Fenris? _Marian searched the room_._ He had chosen to stand in a dark corner. _Fitting. It suits his mood. _Their eyes met briefly as Marian shut the door. He was the first to look away. _I don't have time for this game, _she decided_. Either he grows a pair and talks to me or we go our separate ways. I'm sick of trying to speak of a problem only to have him walk away._

"Ah, there she is," Varric said. He was seated at the head of the bed relaxing on one of her feather down pillows. To her horror he was still wearing his boots. "We were all getting ready to take a nap."

Isabela was sprawled out next to Varric with one thigh prominently on show. The scantly clad pirate always looked like she was ready for bed. Marian guessed that that was the point of her outfit.

"We decided to wait so that you could tell us a bedtime story, Hawke," Isabela added in a flirty voice. She patted at the empty space between her and Varric and then rubbed it seductively in circles. "You can be in the middle."

"You better stop calling her by that nickname, Rivaini," Varric warned. He pushed Isabela's hand away from this leg. "She'll tell you off again."

Isabela smiled her sultry smile. "I like it when she tells me off. Maybe she will teach me a lesson." She licked her lips and blew a kiss at Marian.

"Can I watch?" Anders asked to Varric's amusement and Alistair's horror. "Or maybe even participate? I'll bend you over my knee and Marian can spank you."

Marian waggled her finger at Anders. "There will be no spanking in the mage war room."

"Why are we doing this in here?" Anders asked. "The kitchen is the logical option. I have to twist my neck at a strange angle to see you Marian."

Varric pointed to the mages seated at the foot of the bed. "I can't see past their heads," he said. "I should be sitting there."

"For Maker's sake let's start this damn meeting," Marian said. "And Varric…"

"Chuckles?"

"Put my nighty back behind my pillow you sick little bastard," Marian said. "And stay out of my lingerie drawer." Her eyes narrowed. "I know how many pairs of smallclothes I own. They better all be there."

Varric lifted the white lacy nighty up for everyone to see. "Why can't you wear this instead of those frumpy robes? I bet one of the mages could enchant it for you."

"I would be more than happy to oblige," Anders said. He examined the garment and imagined Marian wearing it. "But you will never get the blood stains out of white satin."

"Can we continue?" Fenris asked. Marian recognized the possessiveness and jealousy in his voice. It was a sign that he still had feelings for her and it gave her hope, but it also angered her.

_I know he isn't toying with my emotions, _Marian thought_. I know he is trying to come to terms with my family history, but for once, why can't we work through it as a couple? If we were married would he want to go through the relationship purely independently? That's not a marriage._

"Broody still cares." Varric huffed at the elf standing across the room. "If you were normal you wouldn't let her sleep alone in that nighty."

_Maker's breath, Varric, _Marian thought_. You are going to make it worse._

"Shut up dwarf," Fenris spat. He crossed his arms over his chest and receded further into the corner.

Marian gestured for everyone to gather near Amelia and the amulet. She did not want to give Varric another opportunity to aggravate Fenris. "That includes you too Fenris." _Wonderful… now he is going to act like a petulant child._

Amelia pointed to the amulet resting on her chest. What she knew and the others did not was that Malcolm could see and hear through the amulet. "Sol and I believe this is the key to winning the war against the Tevinters."

"It's also the reason we're in this damned mess," Varric shook his head at the gaudy piece of jewelry. The dwarves in Orzammar told stories of powerful artifacts buried in the Deep Roads but he had never seen one. What he did know was that those stories never ended well. The artifacts were cursed or misused by a tyrant and everyone suffered. He hoped this amulet would be the exception and that there would be a happy ending involving him, a pint of ale and a pretty dwarven woman.

Marian tugged at Varric's ponytail. "Shhhh," she said. "Let her speak."

"Our focus now is to move past the blame and survive," Amelia added. It was in reference to Marian's hatred of her father more so than the amulet. "Everything else is irrelevant."

_Is it? _Sol mentally sighed_. I suspect Marian might find it relevant that you are having possessed sex with her father. I have no idea if I should tell Marian or even continue to trust this woman. _"Are you sure you should be wearing it?" Sol asked. "It's not mage friendly."

"Then what is it doing in the mage war room?" Varric laughed at his own remark.

"As long as it is not charged it is safe to touch," Amelia answered. _And you know that, Sol. So why ask if it is safe to wear? Is he trying to make me look inept? _She cleared her throat and began her explanation. "We know that Malcolm's final spell changed the amulet's properties."

"Malcolm?" Marian had a queer smirk on her face. The way Amelia had said his name sounded overly familiar. "I didn't know you were on a first name basis with my father. Have you two met?" Marian teased.

_Yes, many times now, _Amelia thought_. I care deeply for your father, Marian. I am sorry for the deception, but you need Malcolm and me to win this war. If not for that, I would tell you the truth. _

"Of course not," Amelia smiled the question away but Isabela, a great observer of people, detected the lie. "What would you prefer I call him?"

Varric snorted with laughter. "You don't want Chuckles to answer that question," he drawled. "You wouldn't think it, but she has quite the vocabulary for a lady living in Hightown."

"Call him what you wish," Marian said and she gave Varric a playful look of warning. "But if you do need a suggestion I have a few ideas."

Amelia bowed her head and decided it would best to carry on with the explanation before she was angered. Her eyes fleeted to Sol. He was standing next to Marian's wardrobe with a self satisfied smirk on his face.

"As you know a mage is a gateway between the Fade and waking world. We pull mana out, it goes through us and then we release it. That is the natural order," Amelia explained. The mages in the room nodded their heads in understanding. The rest listened but their expressions remained blank. "But Malcolm cast a spell of such power that when the amulet sucked in the energy it ripped a hole through the veil and created an opening to the Fade. This opening is tethered to Malcolm. He is the reason the doorway to the Fade stays open and no mage can wear the amulet."

"So it is as we discussed. He is part of the Veil?" Marian asked. They had been trying to piece together a picture of the amulet's magical qualities based on Marian's conversations with her father. She was delighted that Sol and Amelia had managed to make such quick progress.

"He is more like a cork plugging up a hole in the Veil." Amelia answered. "That is why he cannot die and it is why he is not dead. He is living in two realities at once and he must be freed or we will not be able to destroy the amulet."

_I wonder if that is true, _Sol thought. He stroked his chin while mulled over the information_. Why would Malcolm need to be free of the Fade? The amulet is a physical object in this world. There is something she is not telling us._

"But his physical body no longer exists," Marian said. She thought back to the day her family received the message that Malcolm was dead. There was no body to be burned, no finality to the event, instead she was left with only his final words: 'If anything should happen to me it is up to you, Marian, to take care of the family.'

"It depends on which way he is freed," Amelia said. "If he is pushed out of the Fade then I believe he will emerge in physical form possibly along with everyone who has been killed by this amulet. But if he is pulled into the Fade, then he will remain a spirit forced to wander the Fade forever."

Fenris stepped forward out of the shadows and his words radiated with anger. "I think he should be pushed into the Fade. He caused this mess and deserves no mercy."

"That is not going to happen," Amelia stated with enough force to widen the eyes of everyone present. "No one deserves to live an eternity of solitude with nothing but their memories to keep them company. If you do not intend to help free him then I will not help with this war."

Marian believed she understood. Amelia had lived the majority of her life in a room alone. She was projecting her feelings onto Malcolm. "He is still my father, Amelia," Marian said softly and she laid her hand on Amelia's shoulder. "I could not live with myself if I left him to that fate. You needn't worry."

_Maker's breath_, Sol thought. He rubbed his forehead while he questioned if he should intervene. _Marian should know, she should… but we need Amelia. What is more important here? Integrity or continued survival? _

"What else do you know about this amulet?" Anders asked. "For that matter, where is your source material? You have presented us with no proof."

"Good question," Sol said to Amelia's annoyance. He was toying with her and she knew it. "I will let Amelia explain."

"I noted the current mechanics of the amulet and worked backwards," Amelia said as if the answer was obvious. Malcolm was a brilliant man and he had provided her with oodles of information, but Amelia had pieced it together and it was her theories that she now proposed. "I believe the amulet has been modified and does not serve the original purpose."

Marian studied the amulet hanging from Amelia's neck. _The evil men do lives after them. I doubt any good is interred with the bones of my father's forefathers. How Amelia can bear to touch it, let alone wear it is beyond me. It is like staring into the face of evil. I must remember how many have died because of this amulet and I must accept that it may be that I die in the pursuit to destroy it._

Amelia noted Marian's intense stare, her eyes fixed on the amulet and she suspected the reality of what they must face was beginning to trouble her thoughts.

"In the time of Arlathan the mining of lyrium was not yet known to the world," Amelia said. "This amulet would have been the equivalent of a lyrium potion. It could draw and store mana from the Fade but at the disadvantage of waiting for it to well between uses. I think Thalsian modified the amulet so that when a mage was killed the amulet would absorb the power and it could be used immediately without the need to wait for the recharge."

"So… what's the problem?" Varric asked. He questioned whether he really wanted to know or if he could grasp the magical theory. But his curiosity, his greatest vice, needed an explanation that made sense "That still doesn't explain why mages can't wear the amulet."

"Malcolm's spell ripped open the Veil, and because of this, the amulet is overflowing with mana," Amelia explained. "Mages always have a pool of mana within them. If a mage were to activate the amulet while wearing it the two sources of mana would clash and the mage would literally be ripped apart. This is because the energy cannot be released fast enough so in essence it overflows, whereas a person without inherent magical talent offers an endless empty vessel. They have no pool of mana."

"If a mage cannot use it and anyone else can, why not give it to Varric or Isabela to use?" Anders asked. "They would be unstoppable."

Amelia shook her head. How quickly they had forgotten Burgamond. "Only if you are willing to sacrifice everyone here for the power to wield it," she said. "A person without magical ability cannot command mana from the Fade, therefore the amulet offers the answer. Sacrifice mages and the amulet stores the power. It becomes an enchantment instead of a gateway to the Fade. Then they can cast like us." She gave Anders a droll look. It was a disappointment that a man who prided himself on the study of magic would need an explanation. "It is obviously not the answer to our problem."

"So how does any of this help us?" Varric asked. "No one can use the damn thing and we can't destroy it unless we pop papa Hawke back into the land of the living, which I gotta say I really want to see happen."

Sol decided it was time to end the magical theory lesson and get down to the crux of the situation. "Amelia wants to break the amulet into smaller pieces because she believes the power will be lessened enough for mages to use."

"It will work, Sol," Amelia said. She was ready to defend her theory even if it meant having an argument in front of the household. "We can then disperse the shards amongst us and use it to absorb incoming magical attacks."

Marian walked between the two mages. "Wait... I do not understand," she said to Amelia. "Why would the amulet keep us safe from magical attacks?"

"Because it is a direct path to the Fade," Amelia said. "Mana will always take the path of least resistance."

"Say again?" Alistair asked. They had lost him an hour ago. He had amused himself with a deep and thoughtful study of Amelia's new low cut corset.

Amelia smiled a girlish smile at Alistair. "I'll draw you diagram later."

"Hmmm… yes that will clear it all up," Alistair said and he smiled back.

Before he could ask for a further explanation and because Amelia wanted to continue to make progress, she playfully patronized him. "You're so pretty," she said.

"Handsome?"

"Yes."

"Irresistible?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Alright, enough of stroking Alistair's ego," Varric said. "If we break the amulet doesn't that destroy it? Problem solved?"

Sol turned to Varric. "If Amelia's theory is correct then Malcolm must be freed in order to destroy it. Though…" He looked straight at Amelia, "That is assuming her theory is correct. Otherwise, if we lose this battle then we are handing over pieces of an amulet that can be reassembled and modified with lyrium. They would have the most powerful weapon in Thedas."

"How do we break it into smaller pieces?" Marian asked against her better judgment. If the timing was less crucial and the danger not as great, she would insist they do more testing.

"The amulet is made from lyrium. Lyrium can only be broken by lyrium," Amelia said. Anything else is like hitting a rock with a toothpick."

"So we need lyrium to break it?" Varric asked. He raised an eyebrow at the thought of obtaining the rare item. "I'll just go fetch some from the market. I'm sure it's sitting right next to the meat pies."

Alistair closed his eyes and smiled. "Pie."

"We already have the lyrium," Amelia said to Varric's surprise. Against her better judgment she smiled at Alistair. He winked and she quickly looked away.

"So you just happen to have lyrium in your goody bag?" Varric asked, his words dripping with skepticism. "Yeah right."

"No," Amelia responded.

"Then…" Varric looked around the room as if he expected to find it. "Where is it?"

Amelia pointed to Fenris. "Right there."

"What?" Marian snapped. She stepped in front of Fenris without thinking. "It's flowing in his veins if you hadn't noticed. Is he supposed to hit it with his bicep. That might work. Fenris does have rather strong biceps and…"

"Please stop," Fenris said. He moved to Marian's side. "Why is it you think I can break this amulet?"

"When you activate the lyrium in your body its magical properties come alive," Amelia said. "If you were to reach into the amulet you would be able to crush it. That is assuming you have the strength and enough lyrium to counter the mass of the lyrium used to create the amulet."

_Maker this woman is brilliant, _Marian thought_. I know it is plausible but can I really ask this of Fenris? Do I have a choice? _"Is there any risk?" Marian asked. "I am not fond of this idea."

Amelia shrugged. "That is for Fenris to say. Have you ever pushed through lyrium before?"

"Yes."

"And…?"

A memory of Danarius and a dark chamber flooded Fenris's memories. His former master had forced him to experiment ghosting through different materials; the most painful had been lyrium. "It's not pleasant," he simply said.

"But can you do it?" Amelia asked.

"Maybe this isn't such a great idea, Amelia." Alistair suggested. "Can't you think of another way?"

"No," Amelia replied.

"Now you're just being stubborn," Alistair said.

"I will attempt it," Fenris said. Keeping Marian safe was at the forefront of his mind. Not even the pain or the danger of what he was about to attempt could dissuade him. "What exactly must I do?"

Amelia handed the amulet to Fenris. "Ghost your hand into the center of the lyrium crystal and attempt to shatter it. And…"

"And…?"

"You can't use your gauntlet," Amelia said.

"What? Why not?" Fenris asked. Without his gauntlet his skin would be ripped to shreds.

Amelia pointed to his hand. "The lyrium in the amulet must come in contact with the lyrium in your veins."

"But it will cut him." Sol argued. He had hated the idea from the moment Amelia proposed it. Regardless of her superior intellect, neither she nor Malcolm could predict what would happen once Fenris ghosted his hand through the amulet. "You can't ask him to do this. We will find another way."

"Unless you think we can survive a three hundred man attack we do not have a choice," Amelia replied in a raised voice. "In war there are no safe options," she ended and her words were uncompromising.

"Fenris you don't have to do this," Marian said. She laid her hand on his shoulder. "We will find another way."

"I do have to do this." And the words were spoken with love.

Fenris reached into the amulet and the pain soared through his hand. It felt like flint grating against granite. He concentrated all of his power on his hand and with extreme effort he was able to force it closed. When he opened his fingers there were several shards of the amulet resting in his palm. They were covered in a thick coating of blood. Sol immediately began to heal him.

"I am sorry you had to endure that," Amelia apologized. The elf and the mage did not speak often and she was annoyed at his treatment of Marian, but she did respect Fenris. "If there had been another way…"

"It is fine," Fenris said nonchalantly, as if it had not hurt in the slightest. "Do you need more shards?"

"No this is perfect," Amelia said. "Besides, I would not ask you to do that again."

"Will the shards be less powerful?" Anders asked. "Can we use them?"

"Definitely. This should have reduced it to an acceptable amount," Amelia said. Her eyes fleeted to Marian. "We need to charge the shards."

"That means me," Marian said. She pricked her finger with the end of Varric's dagger. The shards of the amulet immediately began to glow. "If I had any doubts about my family history they are gone now."

The room filled with an uncomfortable silence. Merrill refused to look at the shards and Fenris had walked back to his corner. Marian was going to offer to be the first test subject. She believed it to be her duty since the amulet had been created by her father's family. But Amelia beat her to it. She was holding a piece of the necklace in her hand.

"That was dumb," Alistair said. "You could have been blown to bits. And then what would I do? Who would tuck me in bed at night and tell me stories about cogs and doomahickies?"

"Someone had to test it and since it was my theory I felt it was only right if it should be me," Amelia said. "We will need to get these fashioned into small amulets."

"How do you know it works?" Anders asked.

Amelia handed Anders a piece of the amulet. He held it away from his body, afraid of it and its unknown power. "Let's see," Amelia said. She cast lightning at him before he had a chance to react. The bolt spread between each shard of the amulet and was absorbed. "It works."

"You could have hurt me!" Anders yelled. "What were you thinking making me your first test subject without permission?"

Varric was doubled over laughing. "Oh Blondie, you should have seen the look on your face."

"I didn't expect that," Amelia said. She was examining the shards. "The magical energy split and was absorbed by all the shards."

"The amulet is still acting as a whole," Sol said. Amelia and Sol smiled at each other at the same time. Those present became instantly suspicious. "We can share mana and concentrate the charge."

"Exactly," Amelia said. Her smug smile annoyed Sol, but he was too excited by their discovery to be angry. "We need to do more experimentation but I believe we now have a huge advantage over the Tevinters."

"What the hell are they talking about, Chuckles?" Varric asked.

Marian picked up a shard and held it up to the sunlight. It was strange to think that in her hand rested the most powerful magic in all of Thedas.

"I will explain later, Varric," Marian said. She turned to the group. "The next thing on my to-do list is an army."

"And where are we going to get people who want to fight three hundred Tevinters?" Varric asked.

"I am going to call in some favors. They decline, I kill them. If not I have the beginnings of an army," Marian answered. The words startled Merrill. They were brutal and uncompromising and the threat was genuine.

"What are you waiting for then? Go get your army," Varric said. "I'm so proud." He wiped away a fake tear. "She's all grown up and waging war."


	49. Chapter 49: Dear Bethany

Thank you everyone for reading, your reviews, favorites and continued support. I appreciate it as always. A special thank you to Coldy who may or may not be reading this. ;) I had to pick on your sooner or later. This was a fun chapter to write. I hope you enjoy it. :D

**Chapter 49: Dear Bethany**

* * *

><p>One broody elf sat at the edge of a pool of water with a diary in his hands and a fresh apple at his side. He stared at the cover as if he was waiting for the book to give him permission to read it. What he was doing was wrong, it went against all of his principles, but if ever a rule needed to be broken it was now. Written inside were the reasons why Marian had fallen in love with him, why she was able to look beyond his dark past to the person. It was his hope that she could teach him how to see more than a magister's daughter.<p>

Fenris flipped through the diary and found the entry concerning the night they had met.

_Dear Bethany,_

_You are not going to believe me. Do you remember how farmer Higgins' boys used to bully the elves who lived near the stables? If the elf I met tonight had lived in Lothering the Higgins boys would literally have become heartless bastards. His name is Fenris and he is the most peculiar and extraordinary person I have ever met and let's face it, I've met some interesting people over the years. _

The pages of the book ruffled. Fenris skipped ahead past her explanation of his lyrium talent and white hair. Three bold words caught his attention: WHAT A BASTARD!

_I did unfortunately think those words after the battle. Fenris sounded ungrateful and spoke to me as if I were something he had just wiped off of his shoe, if... he had shoes. I have never been insulted by a man without shoes! I am not sure how I should feel about it. He does have cute toes, perhaps that makes it better. The point is, he hates mages, rather, he does not trust me because I am a mage. After counting to ten and listening to him speak about his former master, I can understand his apprehension. Father protected us from people who feared magic and if you had been with me, perhaps I would have walked away, but this is an opportunity to show him that not all mages are hell bent on power. My life here in Kirkwall is not as straightforward as it was in Lothering. I have mother and Carver to think of and I need help. Who am I trying to convince? Yes, I feel like I am betraying your trust and father's by adding a mage-hating elf to my company. He could betray me, Anders and Merrill to the templars but... I think there is more to him than his anger. I think he is delightfully complicated and you know how I love puzzles. But, I swear Bethany, if he gives me one reason to think he will cross me or my friends I will kill him._

Fenris took a bite of his apple and a deep throaty chuckle followed. If someone had told him seven years ago that the feisty mage would one day be his betrothed he would have named them abomination and ran them through with his sword.

Until now, he had not considered that Marian had questioned her own beliefs. While he struggled with falling in love with a mage she struggled with the guilt of loving a man who hated mages. They had gone through the process together and come to the same conclusion: they wanted to be a couple regardless. But what was the turning point for Marian? When did she decide that her love for him was more important than what her father or sister would have thought? He was hopeful that he would soon find the answer.

_Dear Bethany,_

_Tonight I visited Fenris in his new abode. Do you remember the stories father used to tell us of brave mages who dared to destroy the spirits in haunted mansions? Now that I think about it, father made those up didn't he? I have yet to read one book that portrays mages as heroes with astounding good looks and rippling muscles and... who win the love of fair maidens. Wait a minute! Father was talking about himself wasn't he? Why did I not see this before? You two are laughing at me aren't you? _

_As I was saying, Fenris is living in one of those creepy mansions. I walked in and there were dead bodies still lying in the foyer from the previous night! He says he is going to bury them in the cellar before they rot. Charming. _

_We sat together upstairs in his new bedroom, complete with cobwebs and giant spiders, and chatted the night away. If you could hear his voice then you would understand why I tried to get him to speak for as long as possible. _

_He was interested to know why I was not returning to Lothering. From what I can gather, he wants the option to make a home for himself, but all he can speak of is Danarius. I do understand how hard it is to be on the run, moving from one town to another and not being able to trust anyone. But we always had each other for support. Can you imagine what it is to be a lone slave fighting for your freedom? There is more to this than he is telling me. When I asked him of his own origins he did not give me a definitive answer. He said he had been told that he came from Seheron but nothing more. I suppose I will need to win his trust in order to get the whole story. Why can't I be less nosey?_

That particular night had been emotional for Fenris. He had realized after a bout of deep contemplation that Marian could be the person to help rid him of Danarius once and for all. But to be indebted to a mage... to say it would be difficult to accept was an understatement. There had been long moments when he stood before the front door, willing himself to flee only to remember that he had given his word to serve Marian. It took two years for him to reconcile what it meant to willingly fight at a mage's side. Was it voluntary slavery? It was obvious from what he had read that Marian viewed him as a conundrum in the early days. Maybe he was still a puzzle she was trying to solve. He had to know.

Fenris flipped ahead to a passage that was entitled: Isabela is a BITCH!

_Dear Bethany,_

_I am so angry! ANGRY! Everyone except Fenris knows that I am completely and utterly in love with him. How did they find out you might ask? Me and my big mouth!_

_Varric, the little bastard, was the first to realize it. He had been observing me observing Fenris and my observations were below the belt. It is not my fault! As you know, his armor is skin tight. You can see everything if you... am I really telling you this? I will have to write about this in more detail and not address it to you. Needless to say, Varric noticed that I blushed every time Fenris bent over and... I may have asked him to demonstrate some of his more stretchy battle maneuvers. This really is my fault isn't it? But still, I want to sew up the dwarf's mouth like a Saarebas!_

_Varric invited me to the Hanged Man for a drink. It had been a particularly miserable day. It was hot, I was sweaty and Fenris was brooding more than usual. He gave me a nasty look when I was nice to Merrill and he grumbled when I laughed at Anders's joke. By the time I arrived at the Hanged Man I was ready to get very drunk. That was when the trouble started. I am a chatty drunk just like our Uncle Gamlen. Apparently, though I certainly do not remember, I stood up on Varric's table and confessed my undying love for Fenris. Thankfully, Fenris was not present._

_The next day I was walking through Hightown with a massive hangover and puffy eyes. Isabela, Fenris and Aveline avoided speaking to me unless necessary. They are survivalists after all. Anyway, I was hunting down information about the viscount's missing son, and then, to my horror, Isabela started to flirt with Fenris! In front of me! It was so blatant even Aveline noticed. I stopped and pretended to be interested in a piece of jewelry at the market stand. I wanted to shout and cry when I heard him flirt back. Why would she do this to me? Maybe Fenris is a one night affair for her but for me... I think I love him Bethany. You know how difficult it is for a mage to consider the possibility of a relationship. Just look at mother and father. How much hardship did they endure so they could be together? But I see now that love is selfish. It is hard to consider the practical when you long to be with someone. _

_Thankfully, Aveline said there was a private matter she needed to discuss with me at the Keep. I waved and walked away before Isabela or Fenris could speak. When I entered Aveline's office I did shed a few tears. She told me it was pathetic and that I needed to pull myself together. That is why I love Aveline. The insults make her feel like family. _

_It has been a week since I last visited Fenris or Isabela. Father used to say that you cannot make someone love you and if you try it is manipulation and it will not last. As much as I care for Fenris, I know father is right. If he wants to be with Isabela then I need to accept it and move on. But it is easier said than done._

This was a revelation. Fenris thought back to that day and he vaguely remembered Isabela flirting with him. It also explained why he had missed his weekly piece of apple pie from Marian. If he had known of her feelings the flirting would not have been well received. The passage reminded him of a conversation he once had with Donnic concerning Isabela and Marian's friendship. At the time it did not make sense but now he understood. Donnic had told him that Marian had forgiven Isabela for lying about the relic, but some things would never be forgotten.

_When did she forgive me for flirting with Isabela? _Fenris skipped ahead to the first instance of his name after the incident. _And why did this warrant me not receiving my pie?_

_Dear Bethany,_

_Today was a great day. It started with a prostitute and ended with a drunken dwarf. _

_I was employed to find a missing woman. She frequented the Blooming Rose and had a thing for an Elven man-whore named Jethann. Yes, you would have turned five shades of red if you had heard him speak. First, he propositioned me, but no, the classy chance to have sexual shenanigans was not why I had a great day. It annoyed Fenris! You are probably wondering why I consider that positive. Let me explain... _

_Later that night, we were playing a game of Wicked Grace with Varric. It was just the three of us for a change. No Isabela! _

_This is how the evening unfolded:_

_Fenris peered over his cards but he deliberately kept his mouth hidden. I still wonder if he was smirking or scowling. _

_He wanted to know if I had considered Jethann's offer. I had no idea he cared! He also stated that he did not think a woman such as me needs to visit a brothel for companionship. I thought it was a sweet thing to say and I know it made me blush because Varric nudged me under the table!_

_I decided after a long drink of my wine that I needed to know if he was saying this to me out friendship or jealousy. Since I know he has a thing for Isabela (bitch) I brought her up. I reminded Fenris that Isabela visits the brothel often and that it doesn't seem to bother him. I thought it was a fair point._

_So he says: You are not Isabela. After that statement, I believed that his concern was brotherly in nature, although I am not sure why that was my first thought. The only brotherly love I have ever received from Carver was the time he told me there was a wasp on my arm right before he slapped it and it stung me. _

_I told Fenris that I knew that I was nothing like Isabela. I do not have the massive breasts, the shapely thighs, dusky looks or sexual persuasion. I wondered if Fenris realized he was making me feel like I was in desperate need of a paper bag. Social skills are not his strong point._

_He quickly mentioned that I have integrity and that it is a quality few possess in Kirkwall. It was a nice thing to say and if he were the town leader or if I was about to be awarded a medal, I might have been proud but... I want this man between my legs. Integrity is not usually what a man thinks about when he desires a woman. I can't see two men in the Hanged Man standing together at the bar, eyeing up a woman and saying: Hey get a load of her. She's got the best integrity I've ever seen. _

_It's fair to say I almost hated Fenris at that point._

_I gave him the benefit of the doubt and explained that integrity is not an attractive quality. I was waiting for him to agree but he says to me, and he was very emphatic, that he believes integrity is an attractive quality and any man who discounts it is a fool._

_Varric sniggered but thankfully he kept his mouth shut. He was enjoying every minute of it. I can't say I blame him. It was funny to think Fenris was insulting himself and had no clue._

_I decided to test the truth of what he had said. I asked him if he found women with integrity attractive. He blushed brighter than I had ever seen and hid his expression under his hair. It was adorable, Bethany. Then he coughed and very slowly raised his eyes to meet mine. He said_ yes _and then excused himself from the table. I did put him on the spot, but Maker... it was worth it to see those big green eyes light up and stare at me with the same wanton look I was giving him. It's hard to read Fenris but today it was obvious what he felt._

_That was why my evening was great. What this means long term is hard to say. With Fenris it is always one day at a time._

Fenris's fingers caressed the page as if it was Marian's soft skin. It was the day she became more than a mage or a leader to him. There was a woman under those frumpy robes, he had been certain of it, one that he had wanted to get to know better. The apple pie returned and the weeks that followed thrilled and terrified him. Marian invited him on every mission and to his horror their companions commented on it... often. But unlike him, who scowled and brooded, she handled it with grace, charm and witty retorts.

He continued to read:

_Dear Bethany,_

_Carver is an ass and mother is unreasonable. I doubt you find that a revelation. If there is one thing I resent about father, it is that he made me solely responsible for the family. That sounds selfish but I need to admit it. Mother blamed your death on me, Carver bitches about being stuck in my shadow, Uncle Gamlen continues to complain about us overstaying our welcome and the rest of my friends ask for my help to solve their problems. There is only person who is willing to listen: Varric. He can tell before a word is said if I need to talk. We sit in his room at the Hanged Man, he orders me a pint and I tell him everything. Do you know that soon after we met I was infatuated with Varric? I even flirted on several occasions. But he was never interested. Varric likes to watch, not participate, which sounds very wrong, but it is true. _

Fenris grimaced at the book. "What?" he questioned. "Marian was infatuated with Varric... before me?" It hurt his pride and upset his stomach. "This is why people should not read others diaries... stupid dwarf."

Against his better judgment Fenris continued to read:

_Carver has started calling Fenris my pet elf. It is upsetting on many levels, mostly because Danarius referred to Fenris as his 'pet'. I have threatened to tell stories of his incident with Peaches behind the barn, but he could care less. I fear Carver has become reckless and I do not mean his usual self. I mean, he does not care any longer. The day you died so did he, I think. So I have decided to take him along on the expedition in the Deep Roads. He wants to go. It is all he talks about and I think it would be a disservice to leave him behind. He is a grown man now, though mother does not want to see it, and capable of making his own decision for better or ill. At least if he is with me I know he is not in Kirkwall doing something stupid._

There it was, the reasoning behind Marian's decision to take her younger brother into the Deep Roads. Fenris had always wondered why she had allowed him to join the expedition. It had turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life.

The next chapter of her diary involved preparations for the journey. There was a particular paragraph that took Fenris by surprise.

_I have to choose who will go with me. This is no easy decision. Varric is definitely part of the group, but who else? Fenris or Anders? When I consider the danger, it frightens me to think of Fenris and Carver in the Deep Roads. What if they are hurt or killed? Mother would blame me and I would lose Fenris. Maker, give me guidance._

She had cared for his well being long before they were a couple. The arguments and terse comments had not affected her love for him, like he had often believed. He had tried to push her away but she was intent on pulling him near.

The pages of the diary wavered as he looked for a passage about their first night together. There were emotions associated with that night he did not want to relive, but it felt necessary to read.

_Dear Bethany,_

_I write this with a heavy heart. It was only an hour ago that Fenris and I lay together in my bed, me in his arms reveling in what I believed would be the start of an intimate relationship. I am such a fool! Father told me... he told me many times that mages cannot lead a normal life and that we are often fated to terrible and fleeting relationships with people. Why did I not listen? Mother is a rare person indeed. She gave up everything for father and he risked his life time after time to keep us safe. Why did I think Fenris would be the one to accept me and love me through every hardship? I suppose... it is not entirely his fault. I am being selfish. The man has had a horrible life and I expected too much from him too soon. Now he is gone. He could not stay with me because some of his memories returned briefly, but it was fleeting and he was left with the agony of not being able to hold on to them. How can I expect him to be there for me when he does not understand what it is to be loved? I'm not giving up on him Bethany. I love him._

Marian was the only one who ever understood and accepted his limitations. It had been painful to read and the smeared ink where her tears had fallen filled him with guilt. But he took comfort in the knowledge that she could see through his fear and unlike him, she was willing to fight for their relationship. Even now, after all the hardship they had faced she still believed they would overcome their problems.

"She is a magister's daughter, but she is not a magister," Fenris whispered. He grappled with his hate of magic and the cruel treatment he had endured in Tevinter. "Marian freed me."

He hurriedly flipped through the pages of the diary until he found the entry entitled: Marriage Proposal. He read it aloud, so he could hear Marian's thoughts ringing in his ears. His mind would not be allowed to deny the truth.

_This has been one of the best days of my life. I wish you were here Bethany. It is a day that sisters need to share. Fenris proposed! Maker, I never thought it would happen. When I think of all that we have been through together, I wonder how we made it to today. I wish you could see the ring. It is as beautiful as grandmother's wedding ring, if not more so. I do wonder how Fenris managed to buy it. For a moment, I considered he may have stolen it, but no... not something this important. _

_If we were not in this terrible situation with the templars and magisters, I would run to the Chantry and marry him right now. I do know one thing: when Fenris makes a promise he does not break it. I know he will not walk away from me as he did three years ago. I know we will be wed and I will not have to face the trials of my life alone._

Fenris closed the diary and laid it on the ground. The wind moved around him, ruffling his clothes and hair. He listened to the sounds of the world as he thought of Marian. Reading of their past experiences through Marian's eyes had been worthwhile, but there were still so many doubts. Maybe if he had known all along that she was magister's daughter it would have been easier to accept. At least he would have had the time to work out his feelings. What he did know was that he could not expect Marian to wait another three years while he mulled it over. His choices were to move on and make a life with Marian or end their relationship. Neither option appealed to him.

Fenris grabbed the diary. "Why?" he asked. "Why can I not let it go?"

The wind caught the pages of the diary as he sat holding it. He was tempted to throw it in the pool of water, frustrated by his indecision, but then he saw it. There was a note tucked in between two pages and it was addressed to him.

_Dear Fenris,_

_I know you are reading my diary. I have known for some time and I am not angry. You are searching for answers. Maybe you will find them within these pages. I want you to know this:_

_If we survive this war, I swear to you that we will move away from Kirkwall, away from the eyes of the world and settle somewhere peaceful and I will never cast magic again. I cannot change who I am but I can change what I do, and for you, I would throw my staff aside. That is all I can give. The rest is up to you._

_Love, _

_Marian_

And a smile grew upon his face. Fenris had finally found the answer.


	50. Chapter 50: To Kill a Templar

Hello all! Yes, it is an update! My daughter has returned to school so I have more time on my hands. I apologize to those of you who never received a reply from me.

A big thanks to NoMadka for the nudge. :D

Please keep in mind that time passes without me documenting every single day and I want to finish this story before it hits the 2 year mark. That doesn't mean I am putting less effort into it. On that note, I hope this chapter makes sense. Action is a pain in the butt to write. What you read at the end gets explained in the next chapter. Muwahahaha.

Thank you.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 50: To Kill a Templar<strong>

It was always the same. Every evening mages poured out from the shadows and into the torch-lit streets to battle. Cullen could not make sense of it. The first report of the odd incident was sent by the guard-captain, Aveline. She declared it to be a templar problem since her men were not equipped to deal with a horde of mages. Cullen was certain that it was an exaggerated event. The idea that mages were openly fighting each other on the streets of Kirkwall was preposterous.

The first night, Cullen and his templars stood watch over the docks. The fighting was reported to be the heaviest in that district. As soon as the sun set, mages walked into the open, unafraid of the templar's presence and an argument ensued. That was when Cullen wished he had taken Aveline's warnings to heart. These people were dangerous maleficarum, mages who lived outside of the authority of the Circle, and some used blood magic. There were two distinct groups. One was clad in unusual armor, and wore cloaks emblazoned with a phoenix. The other was comprised solely of Tevinter mages. He had discerned that much from their rich embroidered robes and ridiculous hats.

Cullen had ordered his men to charge against both groups of mages. But before they could close the distance his men were paralyzed by those that bore the phoenix. No templar was harmed; instead, the mages concentrated on trying to annihilate each other. Always, without any casualties or the use of blood magic, the phoenix mages won.

But tonight was different.

The Tevinter mages were the lone group, and they, unlike the Circle mages who feared the Knight-Commander's wrath, laughed in the faces of the templars. They called forth demons and cast spells of such might that within minutes all but one templar remained: Knight-Captain Cullen. He sat upon the ground with his hand pressed firmly against his wounded side. Nine magisters approached, ready to torture and kill him. Cullen found the strength to lift his sword and point it at the magisters, but even he knew his threats were hollow. His eyes closed and his blade fell from his hand as he began to pray to the Maker.

It was then, as he whispered his last reverence to Andraste that a woman emerged from the shadows. She stood in front of the statue of the Champion of Kirkwall, her body haloed by the blue flames of the statue's torch. It was impossible to tell if she was friend or foe, but Cullen was certain it was no mage. Another innocent was going to die because the Knight-Commander had not deemed the threat worthy of her attention. She had ignored his request for more men, instead she focused on rooting out imaginary blood mages from the Circle. If ever Cullen was considering a career change it was now.

The Tevinter mages turned to the lone woman. Lightning arced across the sky in great flashes behind her.

A magister stepped forth. "You should run while you can," he said. "Make certain to tell others what you see here tonight."

A deafening crack from a sizeable bolt of lightning forced the mages to cover their eyes. What Cullen had believed to be the start of a storm now jumped and sparked on the ground, around the mysterious person. The woman held out one hand and from it a blue flame emerged mirroring the one held by the statue. Cullen had been wrong; it was a mage. But he believed the grand entrance was for naught. One mage against nine magisters was nothing more than tomorrow's fish food.

The lightening died away to reveal two more mages. They began to walk casually towards the magisters without falter. In the middle of the courtyard they stopped, and by the light of a flame Cullen could finally see the bodies of the three mages. Their faces, however, were hidden by black cowls.

The magisters addressed the three in their native tongue. But there was no reply. They continued to spout their threats in every language they knew, ten in all by Cullen's count, but still the three mages remained silent. When at last the magisters grew impatient, all nine cast dreadful spells. The dust settled, the sound of their magic dissipated but nothing had changed. The three mages stood unharmed. Cullen began to wonder if the Maker had answered his prayers. Perhaps these were his servants sent to vanquish those whose ancestors had darkened the Golden City and killed the holy bride Andraste.

"What did I just step in?" One of the three mages asked. The voice was feminine. Cullen smirked when she leaned over and examined her boot. Whether it was from relief or the absurdity of the gesture in light of the situation, he was uncertain. At least he would die with a smile on his face.

The leader of the three mages outstretched her arms and a wave of ice engulfed all nine magisters. Cullen was unsure whether he should start to pray again or pass out. Two of the mages aimed their mana at the leader and the blue streams were absorbed. Cullen was uncertain how it was possible for a mage to absorb mana from another mage. Of course, he had been trained to immobilize mages, not make them stronger. The female leader made a fist, and with a sudden jolt, a large stone fist flew across the courtyard and shattered the bodies of the nine magisters.

But it wasn't over. Mercenaries poured out of the alleyways intent on killing the magister's assailants. The leader of the three mages mixed fire and ice together; the result was a thick layer of fog. Cullen sat stunned. He had never seen a mage cast two different types of magic at once.

The clank of metal washed away his amazement. Arms and legs broke through the fog as the combatants swung and pushed against each other. Electricity, fire, ice and stone streaked across his line of vision and hit man after man, until finally only a group of five remained. Before him, the three mages stood in a fighting stance.

The female leader shot a round of sharp stone from her hand and pinned one of the mercenaries to a wall. Another mage, collapsed the wall on top of the mercenary and walked calmly back to the leader. The timing was precise and the movements were deadly.

"Amelia, did you have to destroy a whole building to kill one man?"

"No, but I wanted to," she answered.

The leader approached the lone templar. Cullen was too weak to move and so he accepted whatever fate may come without a fight. The three mages were clad in tight fitting black leather woven with thin strips of silverite chainmail. _No robes or staves? _Cullen marveled.

"What do you want with me?' Cullen asked. He managed to sit upright.

It was then that Cullen saw his rescuer clearly for the first time. Half of her face was covered by a black mask but the other side was painted with a red design, a design he knew well. It was the Amell crest.

"Hawke?" Cullen whispered.

Marian could not decide if his face had grown white because he believed he was seeing a ghost or from blood loss. She brought her lips to his ear. "I think we need to have a little chat, Cullen."

Cullen touched Marian's hand. "But I thought you..."

"Were dead?" Marian said. She cocked her head towards her two companions. "Take him to the boat and see to his wounds."

Sol rubbed at the wrinkles creasing his forehead. They were deeply furrowed like the waves before a hurricane. "Are you sure you want to save this bastard?" Cullen, the mage-hating bigot, had turned a blind eye when Ser Alric had made beautiful female mages tranquil. They became his mindless fuck puppets. Sol grabbed Marian's arm. "You know what he has done."

Marian did not have a strong attachment to Cullen but he was needed. He was the man who was going to provide her with a templar army.

"I understand your hesitation, Sol," Marian said. This was a delicate subject. A reunion between Cullen and Sol was not going to be pleasant. "Look at it this way: if he refuses to help us, I will kill him. If he tries to hurt you or Fenris, I will kill him. If he cooperates, I will allow him to live but only after you get the opportunity to roast his balls. Deal?"

She had a way with words and they made Sol smile. "Deal." His head gestured to Cullen. "Let's go before I change my mind."

Marian rubbed his shoulder for reassurance. There was nothing in writing, but Sol knew she would carry through with her threats if Cullen proved to be a liability.

"By the way... has anyone ever told you that you look great in leather?"

"Flattery will get you everywhere Marian," Sol said and he winked. His features soon turned dark as he examined Cullen's wound. The body of templar looked weak and meager in the dim torchlight. One spell or a small slice with a dagger would rid Sol of him forever. _What is it that makes one man a murderer and another capable of compassion? Do I stay my hand because it is just or because I have always been made to believe that a templar's life is more important than mine? I could kill him. Isabela would understand. Marian would not, but she would forgive me. I suppose the question is: do I want to kill him?_

Once he finished battling his psychological demons, Sol realized that he was a healer by nature and no amount of hatred could completely diminish his compassion. Many would have taken the opportunity to kill the templar. It would be sweet revenge, but Sol supposed that was the first step towards breaking his moral compass. It seemed that killing Cullen would prove the templars right, their assertion that a mage is incapable of being trusted.

"I will grab his feet. You take his head, Amelia," Sol finally said.

Amelia eyed Cullen's body and then Sol. She had been busy looting bodies for information. It had been a fruitless exercise. None of the Tevinters were carrying documents.

"What?" Amelia said. She rose from the ground and walked to the foot of the templar. "I can use force magic to carry him."

"I think it would be best if we try and keep a low profile," Sol said. "A floating body is going to attract too much attention."

Amelia crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. "And I suppose carrying a templar horizontally to the docks will appear to be a more normal mode of transportation?"

"Do whatever is the quickest," Marian said. She was concerned reinforcements from the templar order would arrive soon, or worse, Meredith. "Let's go."

"Would you like to be the one to paralyze him?" Amelia asked Sol.

Sol and Cullen's eyes met. The templar had expected to see the same obedient stare he had observed for years, but Sol had changed. The mage stood confident, defiant even and instead of looking away he glared.

"It would be my pleasure," Sol said. He cast a paralysis spell before Cullen could object. The templar lay frozen in place, his expression still held a look of surprise. "That was satisfying."

Amelia leaned over and closed Cullen's eyelids and mouth. "Sorry, ser templar but I refuse to stare at your fish face all the way to the boat." With care she raised and pushed Cullen's body through the streets of the docks. Two drunks commented on the spectacle along with a prostitute and homeless man. Marian knew that the authorities would ignore any reports of a floating man from these people.

"Should we put a blanket over him?" Marian asked. She looked down at Cullen's prostrate floating body and laughed. "All we need is a tablecloth and we could have tea service on him."

"Boiling hot tea and Cullen. Sounds like a recipe for fun," Sol added.

"You know he can hear you," Marian said.

Sol looked down at Cullen and gave him a wicked smile. "Good."

Marian held up her hand and signaled for them to stop. She could make out Isabela's figure against the ship's torchlight. But the unexpected silhouette of a second person gave her pause.

"What is it?" Sol whispered.

"Is that... Varric?" Marian asked. "How did he know we were here?"

Sol smiled. "Why... his army of Elven urchins probably told him."

"I do not have the luxury of chatting with a nosey dwarf right now. I have a templar to torture," Marian said. She gestured to Amelia. She nodded and continued on to the ship with Cullen in tow.

"Varric will not leave you alone until you speak with him. He is going to find out about you and Fenris," Sol said. "The sooner the better if you ask me.

"I did not ask you. You always tell me something I do not want to hear," Marian said. She playfully pushed Sol forward. "Go catch up with Cullen while I entertain Varric. And Sol..."

"Yes?"

Marian waggled a finger at him. "Play nice. I need him alive."

"For now," Sol said.

He left Marian standing alone in the dark pondering the likelihood of Cullen's untimely death. _At least Amelia isn't a threat. Wait... didn't she say that the templars tried to make her tranquil once and failed? _Marian debated what to do for a mere thirty seconds. Oh a_ little torture never hurt anyone. I should let them have their fun._

As Marian walked across the gangplank Varric began to wave. "Chuckles!"

"I am busy Varric," Marian said. She pointed to Isabela and then the anchor chain. "Take us out of sight, towards the Wounded Coast."

Varric walked to the cabin door and blocked the entrance. "Oh no you don't, Chuckles. Or should I say the old ball and chain?" A large grin filled his bristly face. "The things you two get up to when I'm not looking."

She could not restrain a smile. "I promise that once I am finished with Cullen, I will tell you all the sordid details."

"That reminds me, where is the blushing elf?" Varric looked haphazardly around the ship as if he expected to find Fenris lazing about. "You know, it's not just me who wants details. Aveline demands you explain yourself."

Marian pointed downwards. "Fenris is below deck."

"The best things always are," Isabela said in a sultry voice. She sauntered towards Varric and Marian with a crooked smile on her lips and a naughty glint in her eye. "Ask her what happened after the ceremony."

"You know, I am standing right here," Marian said. "I can hear every word."

Varric's eyebrows rose to new heights. "Oh this I have to hear." He thumbed towards Lowtown. "Hanged Man and the drinks are on me."

"Varric, you're as eager as a sailor on leave," Isabela tutted. "Let's go play with Cullen first and then we'll talk."

"Torturing templars really isn't my thing," Varric said. He thought back to the possessed fight with Meredith and her men and decided to rephrase his statement. "Unless it's funny then I'm all for it."

"Hmm, I have something fun in mind," Isabela said. The devious smile unnerved Marian and Varric. Any woman who could explain forty-two erotic ways to use a feather was not to be trusted with a serious interrogation. "He will talk in no time."

"Maker preserve me," Marian muttered. "It's going to be a long night."


End file.
